


Coming To The Tree

by grlnxtdr29



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Major Character (sort of ) Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grlnxtdr29/pseuds/grlnxtdr29
Summary: Unbeknownst to Blaine, the Anderson men have been living under a Curse for over three hundred years. Can the McKinley spy save him? Or is he doomed to a life of darkness and despair?





	1. A brief history

**Author's Note:**

> A brief history;
> 
> In the winter of 1692, mass hysteria held the village of Salem, Massachusetts in it's grip. The cry of witchcraft sent the villagers into a frenzy, and in the end, twenty-five people died; nineteen were hung, one was pressed to death, and five more, including two children, died in prison. The terror lasted for over a year, until May, 1693, though the ramifications lasted for decades.
> 
> This is historical fact. But what if there were more victims? And what if Witchcraft was real?
> 
> Ohio became a territory of the British in 1754, and became a state of the union in 1803. The city of Westerville was established in 1858, though the area had been settled for many years before.
> 
> Again, this is historical fact. But what if someone had settled there long before the British?

Salem, Massachusetts, May, 1693

The boy stood stoically, a sneer on his face, hands bound behind him, a necklace of rope around his neck.

"Josiah Whitaker, you have been found guilty of the crimes of witchcraft and murder," a middle aged man read the formal decree. "It is the finding of the court that you did knowingly cause the deaths of Gerald Neighbour, Nathaniel Black, and Daniel Parish through the use of magic, and that you did knowingly enspell my son, William, and coerce him into an unnatural relationship. You have been sentenced to death by hanging. Have you any last words?"

The boy continued to glare at those gathered, meeting each and every one of their eyes. "I have done no wrong, and you know it. My blood is on your hands!"

A few in the crowd lowered their eyes in remorse. Others looked angry at the accusation, and yet others seemed to be in the grip of fear.

A shout in the distance caught all of their attentions.

"Father! Stop!" Another boy raced into the clearing. "You cannot do this! He is innocent!"

The sight of the other boy finally seemed to crack the accused's resolve. "William! You should not have come!"

The older man looked pityingly at his son. "You are still under his influence! This is the only way to cure you of this unnatural affliction!"

"Love is not an affliction, Father! I love him!"

"William! No! Don't!" Josiah sobbed.

The darker boy turned to face him. "I cannot let them do this to you! It was I who killed those boys! I confess! They attacked Josiah! I killed them to protect him!"

"No! He lies!" Josiah screamed, but the other boy didn't stop.

"I am the one who enspelled him, Father!"

The crowd began to murmur among themselves, some looking between the two boys speculatively, some with a calculating look in their eyes.

"He has confessed to witchcraft!" Someone in the crowd shouted. The Magistrate glared at them.

"No! He is bewitched! He would say anything to save his master!" The grumbling of the spectators grew in volume, and some of them began to push forward, unheeding of the Magistrate's proclamation.

"He is a witch!" Someone cried

"Take him to the jail!" Another voice screamed.

"William! No!" The bound boy shouted. "Run, my love! Save yourself!"

"I will not leave you!" The dark boy tried to reach for him, but cruel hands pulled him away.

"Stop!" The Magistrate called out, trying to place himself between his son and the mob calling for his arrest. "Once the witch is dead, my son will come to his senses! He is innocent!"

"Run, William! Please! Get away!"

The Magistrate turned to the accused. "This is your fault! You infected my son's mind with your corruption! The Devil take you!"

The older male kicked out, knocking the block of wood the boy stood on out from under him. The resounding snap of the neck was shockingly loud in the sudden silence. For a moment, all was still, except the swaying of the body, and a small yellow bird that had been startled from it's perch in the tree's branches, causing the songbird to take flight.

William was the first to move, in a state of shock, he approached the boy he loved. He reached out a hand towards that beautiful face, but stopped short of touching the cooling skin. Instead he clenched his hand into a fist.

He turned to his father. "You killed him! How could you! You killed him!"

"I did it to protect you! His spell over you is broken now!"

The boy looked down at the ground, and then back up at the man before him. Fire seemed to glow in the boy's eyes.

"I was never under his spell, Father." As the dark boy spoke, the ground beneath his feet began to shake. The crowd began to panic as they stumbled against each other, the skies overhead darkening with storm clouds. "I am my Mother's child! It was she who taught me the craft in secret! Do you think I did not know it was you who had her accused and hung? And now you have killed the man I loved!"

The ground began to shake more violently, causing the mob to fall to their knees and cling to each other in fear.

"I am the witch you seek, Father! Now hear my words, for this is my curse upon you! You shall remarry, and produce a son, and he will grow and produce a son, and he will produce a son, but none of them will be content in life! Their love will wither and die inside them, and they will know no joy, for generations to come, until the day my love is reborn. Only he will have the power to break the curse!"

The quake grew in strength, the screams of the crowd around them growing louder. The dark haired boy leaned in closer so only the older male could hear him.

"You are no longer my Father. From this day forward, I claim my Mother's name. William Anderson is dead!"

His words were punctuated by the booming of thunder, as a bolt of lightening struck the tree where his beloved still hung, blinding those cowering in fear. When their vision cleared, the boy was gone, as was the tree with it's unnatural fruit. From somewhere unseen, the song of a warbler could be heard, singing a mournful tune.

…

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
They strung up a man  
They say who murdered three  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

…

Westerville, Ohio, October, 2010

As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, the teacher, Mr. Carlson, called out, "Don't forget, Founder's Day is coming up next week! You need to be finishing up your projects for the open house. And I have it on good authority that the Warblers will have an 'impromptu' performance that day as well!"

Blaine smiled as the other boys broke out in cheers at this news. He gathered up his books and bag, and headed back to his dorm, humming to himself. Once he was alone in the dorm, he dropped the dapper persona, and sagged down onto his bed. Some days it was just harder to put on the act than others. He took out his phone and reread the text he'd received that morning.

I'm moving out. I'm sorry, I cannot stay with him any longer. Stay strong. I love you.- Mom

Blaine sighed. He'd known it was inevitable. His father had become more and more unbearable the last few years, since Blaine had come out to them. The strange thing was, he didn't take it out on Blaine. No, for some reason his father blamed his wife, Pam, for Blaine being gay. That isn't to say that Blaine was spared from his father's demanding and often demeaning nature.

Almost from the minute Blaine had been born, James Alexander Anderson had found fault with his son. The first thing his father had said upon seeing him after his birth had been, "He's too small."

As he'd gotten older, there had been other characteristics of his that his father had criticized; his hair was unruly, he was too excitable, he behaved like a puppy jumping all over the furniture, and he tended to burst into song at the most inappropriate times.

Blaine couldn't help it, though. Singing was the one thing in his life that even remotely brought him any semblance of happiness anymore. But lately, even that hadn't been able to sustain him. It felt as if he was forgetting what emotions were. He was going through the motions, but nothing really registered.

He tried to remember the last time he had truly felt anything. Had it been after the attack? No, it had been the summer before Freshman year, when he had come out to his friend, Howard, who was also gay. The two boys had been best friends practically from birth. They had met in daycare, and had bonded over identical Cookie Monster t shirts on the first day.

Howard had come out when he was thirteen. Blaine had been naive and had had to ask what being gay meant. After the other boy had explained, Blaine had just shrugged. What difference did it make who you loved? But over that next year, Blaine had thought about it more and more, and had come to the conclusion that he himself was also gay.

It had been the day before his fourteenth birthday, and he recalled it clearly. They had been sitting in his back yard, feet dangling in the pool, and Howard had been telling him about this boy he had met from another school who had asked him to go skating with him.

Blaine could tell his friend was giddy about having his first 'date' with another boy, and was happy for his best friend, and told him so.

"I'm glad you've met someone you really like. I hope it works out for the two of you."

"Thanks, Blaine! Hey, maybe if you asked someone to come with you, we could have a double date? I know Angie would come with you. She really likes you, you know."

Blaine, shrugged. "She's nice, but I don't like her like that. We're just friends."

"Well, what about Lisa?"

Blaine sighed. "There aren't really any girls I like that way."

Howard had turned and looked at him then, his eyebrow raised in question. Blaine had kind of smiled at him. "I'm gay, too. I've been thinking about it a lot since you told me about it, and I've realized that is why I've always felt different than other kids."

"Wow, that's cool Blaine! I'm glad you've figured it out. Are you going to tell everyone else? What about your parents?"

Blaine shook his head. "Not yet, but soon, I think. I just need a little more time to adjust to the idea, you know what I mean?"

Howard nodded, and hugged him. They had talked some more, and had teased each other about how this sounded like the beginning of some cheesy YA gay romance novel, though they both knew that they would never be anything more than friends. Neither felt any attraction for the other.

Blaine remembered that it had felt so good that day to admit out loud for the first time who he truly was. He remembered how happy he was that he had a best friend to share this discovery with, who understood and accepted him.

As he sat in his dorm room, he recalled what had happened the next day. His mom had invited Howard and a couple of his other friends over to celebrate Blaine's birthday. They'd been in the living room, eating pizza and watching a baseball game, when James Anderson had come home from work in a foul mood.

His dad had forgotten it was his birthday, and didn't care. He didn't like coming home to a house full of noisy teenagers, and had kicked them all out. Pam had been furious, and the two had shouted and argued for well over two hours, while Blaine lay in his bed, hearing every word, silently crying into his pillow.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. He had seven minutes to get to Warbler rehearsals. He got up and went into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face, and studied himself in the mirror. He didn't recognize the face staring back at him. Hadn't for a long while now. He wondered briefly if maybe there was something mentally wrong with him, but really couldn't seem to bring himself to care.

He took a deep breath, and forced the happy-go-lucky mask back into place, and headed down to the Warbler's commons, whistling a Katy Perry tune as he walked.

…

Westerville, Ohio, May, 1994

The dimly lit cellar echoed with chanting as the twelve figures cast their circle of protection, and began their incantation. Their leader entered into a trance like state, sending his spirit out of his body to search for what they sought, as their coven had done every year on this date for the past three hundred years. In those long centuries, they had found no trace of the precious item, and none of them expected tonight to be any different.

They were surprised when the figure in the center of their circle stiffened, and returned to his body so soon.

"He is reborn. We must prepare."


	2. What Dreams May Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On January 20th, 1692, eleven year old Abigail Williams and nine year old Elizabeth Parris began to behave in a peculiar fashion; screaming, throwing things, babbling incoherently, crawling under the furniture, and contorting their bodies in unnatural manners. Soon after, a handful of other girls in the village began to behave in a similar fashion.
> 
> In mid February of that same year, a doctor examined the girls and proclaimed that the symptoms were "beyond the power of Epileptic Fits or natural disease to effect," and suggests that witchcraft may be involved.
> 
> The minister, Reverend Samuel Parris, father and uncle to the first two girls afflicted, along with several of the townsfolk, pressured the girls to tell them who was using magic to attack them. Under the pressure, Elizabeth identified West Indie Slave, Tituba. Soon after, two other women, Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne, were also implicated.
> 
> Over the first week of March, two of the areas Magistrates, John Hathorne and Johnathan Corwin, began to interrogate the three women. Soon more women were accused, and the hysteria began in earnest.

Salem, Massachusetts, March, 1692

A single candle illuminated the small cabin on the outskirts of Salem village as the midnight hour quickly approached. The young man was exhausted, but refused to sleep. A single tear slid down his cheek as he ran the damp wash cloth over his father's worn face. The older man hadn't moved in hours, and the boy feared he was dying.

A quiet knock on the door startled him, and with great trepidation, he opened it a fraction, peering warily out at the late night visitors. A sigh of relief escaped him as he opened the door a bit wider and hastily bid his guests to enter.

"Goody Anderson," he whispered, fear keeping his voice low. "You should not have come. It is dangerous times we live in. If you were caught..."

"Shh, it is alright, Josiah. I have taken every precaution. How fares your father?"

The teen's shoulders slumped. "Not well. I fear it may be too late. I do not have the talent for healing as you do."

The woman embraced him for a moment. "We all have our own gifts. Yours lay in music and coaxing plants to grow. William's gifts lay more in emotion." She indicated the young man who accompanied her.

Josiah smiled shyly at the shorter boy, who smiled kindly in return. Goody Anderson moved to the bed and studied the form laying there.

"William, why don't you make a cup of tea for Josiah while I see what I can do for his father?"

"Yes, Mother." The dark haired boy lead Josiah to the table and sat him down, before heating the water. The older boy watched as William took several items from his traveling pouch; herbs, an amethyst stone, and a small piece of bark. He placed the items into a cloth, wrapping them tightly and placing them in the pot, allowing the tea to steep.

He added a few drops of honey before setting a cup in front of the taller boy. He smiled again, and Josiah thought he had the kindest eyes he had ever seen. He took a sip of the tea, noting the flavors of mint and lavender, along with something he did not recognize. He assumed this was the bark.

"Why did you add the amethyst stone?" He asked absently as he watched Goody Anderson placing a similar stone on his father's forehead.

William glanced back up at him. "Amethyst has protective qualities, and can also help balance your emotions. It can help you think more clearly."

The boys watched as Goody Anderson added more gemstones to his father's body. "Garnet helps with healing," William explained as the woman placed the orangish stone on the older man's heart.

A black stone with flecks of red in it was placed on the pulse in the man's throat. "Bloodstone brings energy and helps with blood flow." Josiah listened to the other boy, mesmerized as much by the voice as by the sight of his father's breathing becoming steadier, deeper.

A dark yellow gem was placed on the inside of the left wrist. "Calcite cleanses the body, and helps with healing."

Josiah had known the uses of certain gems; green calcite helped his crops to grow, while citrine also added vitality. His mother, Constance Whitaker, had begun to teach him in the ways of the Craft when he was quite young, but had died when he was eight when an influenza epidemic had hit England.

His father, Jacob, had known what Constance had been, but had loved her without judgment. More than a year after her death, he had moved his son here, to Salem, at Constance's request, telling him that Josiah would find others to guide him in the ways of the Craft, to teach him to harness his powers, and to use them for good. His mother and Goody Anderson had been distantly related.

They knew it was dangerous. They understood what would happen if they were exposed. Goody Anderson and a couple of older woman in the village had taken the boy under their wings, and had taught him what they could, though caution meant that his lessons were sporadic, and he was well behind the level of knowledge that William possessed.

The two boys had very little interaction over the last few years. The Andersons lived in Salem Township proper, and William's father, Nathaniel was one of the Magistrates. Josiah and his father were simple farmers, living on the outskirts of Salem village. Josiah had always been shy by nature, and had little interaction with any of the villagers outside his instructors.

When the first whispers of witchcraft had begun to spread a few weeks ago, Josiah had felt the fear creeping up on him. When Goody Good, one of his teachers in the Craft, had been accused, he worried that she may implicate him, or one of the others, to save herself. He became more withdrawn than usual.

But none of that fear compared to what he had felt when his father had collapsed that morning. As Goody Anderson began to chant, she held a crystal on a chain over his father's body.

"Fuchsite, the Healer's stone. She's using it to amplify her abilities, to concentrate them and send them into your father." Josiah was stunned when the younger boy reached over and took his hand. "Your father will be alright."

Josiah looked over, and found himself ensnared by golden colored eyes.

…

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where a dead man called out  
For his love to flee  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

…

Lima, Ohio, October, 2010

Kurt woke slowly, trying to cling to the memories of the dream, but they faded from his mind as his eyes opened Monday morning. He reached out his hand and shut off the alarm clock, groaning as he sat up. His back was stiff and sore, the bruises from Friday protesting the movement. The weekend's reprieve hadn't been long enough for them to heal.

He really did not want to go to school today, but if he didn't, his dad would be suspicious. He got up and showered, the heat relaxing his muscles. He washed his hair, and rinsed off, then stepped out and wrapped a towel around himself. He stepped in front of the mirror and studied himself.

Storm surge eyes seemed a bit wider than usual, and his skin seemed to be a bit paler, but other than that, he looked just as he always had. He had almost expected not to recognize himself. He didn't feel the same as he had a few years ago. The constant stream of verbal abuse, the locker shoves, the slushie facials, it all wore on him, breaking him down a little more each day.

The only bright spot in his life was Glee. The New Directions were his friends, his family, and they tried to support him the best they could, but they just didn't understand him. Didn't understand how completely and utterly alone he was. The music helped, though. It lifted his soul when nothing else could.

He finished getting ready, moisturizing, getting dressed, and doing his hair. The last thing he put on was a bracelet that had beads made from semi precious gemstones; amethyst, tiger eye, agate, amazonite, clear quartz, rose quartz, and rhodochrosite. He wasn't sure why he had let Tina talk him into buying it Saturday when they had gone to a street fair. She had dragged him to the stall selling spiritualistic items, and the older woman running it had explained what each of the gemstones represented.

Kurt hadn't really believed in the mystical properties of the stones, but the moment he had touched the stones, he had felt a sense of peace, of rightness settle over him. Tina had insisted he needed it. He hated to admit that she might be right, but had purchased it anyway.

He slipped it on, and once again felt that aura of peace settle over him. Maybe there was something mystical about the stones after all, but he still wasn't ready to believe fully.

He went upstairs for breakfast, and smiled at his dad, who was drinking a cup of decaf while reading his newspaper. "Morning, Dad. You want an egg white omelet?"

Burt looked up at him, and grinned. "Morning, kiddo. No thanks. I'm picking Carole up and driving her to work this morning, and she is bringing me a breakfast wrap. And before you ask, she assured me that it is on my Kurt Approved diet."

Kurt smiled. "Okay, then I guess I'll just get something from The Lima Bean on my way to school."

He hugged his dad, and kissed his cheek before grabbing his bag and keys and heading out.

Forty-five minutes later, grande nonfat mocha and breakfast sandwich in hand, he slipped into his first class of the day, American History, and pulled out the folder with his presentation that was due that day. He'd worked hard researching his topic, and had been fascinated by what he had learned, but now had to wonder if perhaps it had contributed to his peculiar feeling lately. He finished eating as he reviewed his materials, and didn't notice when the teacher came in and the other students took their seats until Mrs. Simmons called on him.

"Mr. Hummel? Are you ready to give your presentation?"

He looked up, surprised that he'd been so absorbed in his notes he hadn't realized class had started. He gathered up his file and moved to the front of the room. As he glanced around, Brittany smiled serenely at him. He smiled at her and began to speak.

"Uh, my presentation is on the Salem Witch trials of 1692 and 1693. Most people know about the nineteen people who were hung, and of Giles Corey, who was pressed to death, but recently evidence has come to light that says that there were more victims that were previously unknown."

He cleared his throat before he continued. "A diary from one of the villagers has been discovered that seems to imply that one of the Magistrates' may have destroyed court papers and other evidence that his own wife had been one of the accused, and that she had been found guilty and was hung early on during the mass hysteria. They also mention an unnamed young man who was also hanged near the end of the trials. The diary also says that the Magistrate's own son disappeared mysterious on the same day the boy was hanged."

He glanced around again, and cleared his throat once more. "The passage from the diary states, 'and William, son of the Magistrate, Nathaniel Anderson, did disappear in a flash of light, along with the accursed tree.'"

He smiled nervously. "Of course, we all know that witchcraft isn't real, and the boy probably ran away while the villagers were distracted. Anyway, whether this new evidence is true or not, there are many unanswered questions of what had caused the chaos in that region at the time. A common theory was that the girls at the center of the trials had eaten bread contaminated by Claviceps purpurea, the substance that LSD is derived from.

"Another theory states that the accusations were made out of jealousy and spite. This theory seems to be supported by the fact that most of those accused were women with questionable reputations, and often the accusers had some previous disputes with the accused."

As he finished his presentation, he noticed Brittany absently tracing an unusual pattern in her notebook, her eyes seemed clouded over, almost as if she were in a trance. She blinked, and the look disappeared, and she smiled at him as he took his seat. Had he imagined it? Brittany often had a vague expression, but this seemed even stranger than usual. Shrugging it off as a trick of the light, Kurt turned his attention to the next person to give their presentation, and soon forgot about the strange phenomenon.

…

In a darkened cellar several miles away, the coven leader opened his eyes and looked out at his followers from the center of the protective circle. "He is as yet unaware of his legacy, though he is beginning to question his reality. He is wearing the bracelet. The awakening is coming."

The coven members murmured excitedly among themselves.

…

Somewhere in the middle of an unexplored wilderness, May, 1693

The young man formerly known as William Anderson lay beneath the tree, staring up at the boy still hanging from it's branches, exhaustion keeping him from moving. He'd expended so much power with his display of Magic. And now his grief drained any energy he'd had left, tears dripping from his face.

As he watched, a tiny yellow bird settled on the branch above his beloved. The bird began to sing. It's song soothed him, and after a time, he pulled himself up. The bird continued to sing as he shakily gained his feet, and did not fly away as he approached, nor when he cut the rope keeping his lover suspended.

He carefully lay the body out on the ground where he had lain. The bird continued to sing as he went to the small creek nearby, where he ripped off a piece of his shirt and soaked it in the water. He then returned and carefully cleaned the body, and straitened the boy's clothes, before gathering some dead wood to build a funeral pyre.

The bird's song continued through out the day as he watched the flames consume the shell of the man he loved. Only when nothing more than ashes remained did the song end, and the bird flew away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this story! Thank you for the reviews, the follows and the likes! If you are interested in learning the meanings behind the various stones on Kurt's bracelet, you can go to;
> 
> www.Energymuseabout-gemstones


	3. Foundations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On March 12th, 1692, Ann Putnam Jr. accuses Martha Corey of Witchcraft. Seven days later, on March 19th, Abigail Williams accuses Rebecca Nurse of being a witch. On the 21st of March, Martha Corey is examined (questioned) by the Magistrates. Two days later, four year old Dorothy Good (AKA Dorcas) is arrested by Marshal Deputy Samuel Brabrook on suspicion of witchcraft.
> 
> March 24th, 1692, the Magistrates examine the youngest accused witch, who not only confesses, but proclaims that her mother, Sarah Good danced with a demon. By the end of the month, seven village girls have claimed to be afflicted by witches, and the same number of women have been accused.

Salem, Massachusetts, March, 1692

Hysteria was rampant in the village, and neighbors looked upon each other with a distrustful eye. It wasn't safe for Goody Anderson to visit the Whitaker home without people questioning her. Instead, it was William who knocked on the door that morning a few days after their midnight visit. Josiah smiled shyly when he saw the younger boy.

"Good morning, Master Josiah," the darker boy said, smiling. "My Mother has asked me to bring you this bread she baked. I trust your father is feeling better?"

"Father is much improved, thank you. He is sleeping now. He was simply fatigued from working in the fields in the cold. Won't you come in?" Once the door closed behind them, they dropped the formal act and hugged each other. "What news have you?"

William sighed in frustration. "Madness ensues. They arrested Dorcas Good yesterday."

"Dorcas? But she is only four! What could they have arrested the child for?" Josiah put water on to heat for tea, and sat at the table with the other boy.

"Your guess is as good as mine. They are to examine her today."

William could tell the older boy was worried. Goody Good had been one of the few of their coven who had agreed to take on the boy, to instruct him in the ways of the Craft. So far, of the accused, only she was truly a witch. The others were innocent victims of the fear. And now little Dorcas, who had only just been initiated into the Craft had been taken into custody. What would the girl say? She had little knowledge of the coven as yet. Perhaps it would come to nothing.

He reached out and took Josiah's hand, a small frisson of awareness shivering up his spine as it had that first time. "It will be alright. You will see. Fear not."

The other boy smiled at him, and intertwined their fingers. "Thank you. You make me forget my worries with your presence."

They sat in silence for a moment, just studying each other. The sound of water hissing as it boiled reminded them of their surroundings, and Josiah pulled away, blushing. He stood and gathered cups for tea. A moment later William joined him, pulling herbs and other items from his travel pouch and fixing them tea.

Josiah watched him curiously. "What is the bark? It has a strong scent, but I do not recognize the flavor."

"It is called cinnamon. Mother imports it from England, as it does not grow in this land. It comes from the Orient. It helps to soothe the nerves, and can help with various ailments. Plus, the flavor is pleasant."

"And what is this stone?" The older boy picked up the tiny shard of vibrant orangish yellow.

"Orange Calcite. It helps wash away your fears."

Josiah sighed. "I will never learn all there is to know about magic. None of the coven will want to teach me now."

"Mother would."

"It isn't safe for her!"

William poured the tea into two cups, and brought them to the table. "I could teach you. My training is nearly complete."

Josiah looked at him in awe. "You would do that for me?"

The darker boy nodded. "Tomorrow night is the full moon. Meet me on the cliffs between here and Salem Township before midnight." They smiled at each other again, and sat in silence, drinking their tea.

Before he left, William gave Josiah the bundle of herbs his mother had packed, and instructed the older boy how to prepare them for his father, and also gave him two candles that had been specially crafted to help in healing.

With one last parting smile, he bade farewell, and began his journey home. His mother greeted him when he reached his destination. "I'm so happy you have returned safely. How are the boy and his father?"

"Improved. Where is father?"

"Out, it is safe to speak."

William sighed. "Josiah is scared, of course, and despondent at not being able to finish his training in the Craft." He paused, studying his mother. "I have offered to train him. I am going to meet with him tomorrow night at midnight on the cliffs."

Goody Anderson was silent for a moment, considering. She nodded. "It is the only solution. The coven is torn, afraid that they will be discovered. They no longer trust one another, believing the others will turn on them to save themselves if it comes to it. Just promise me you will use caution."

"I shall, mother."

"Good." She hugged him then. " And remember, love is never wrong."

He looked up at her in surprise. "How...?"

She smiled kindly at him. "You wear your emotions on your face, and they are your gift. Did you not notice the birds sing in joy when you are near?"

…

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where I told you to run  
So we'd both be free  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

…

Westerville, Ohio, October, 2010

Blaine finished up his Founder's day presentation, and hit save on the word document. He'd been assigned to greet the open house visitors, and present a history of a few of the buildings.

Blaine hadn't been able to find much information about the man who had built the first building, but there was a lot of information on the buildings themselves. Dalton hadn't always been a school. It had begun as a sort of halfway house for weary travelers, and over the centuries had been a boarding house, a stop on the underground railroad, and even a barracks for soldiers during the Civil war. It became a school when the city of Westerville was incorporated in 1858.

The original building now incorporated Dalton Hall (also known as the portrait hall), the dining hall, The Warbler's Commons, and several smaller study rooms. The most unique feature of the building was the main door frame and lintel, which were now the entry doors to the Warbler's Commons. They were meticulously carved from a single tree, and were seamless. Over the past three hundred years, many additions had been built on to the original building, including what was now the main hall with the spiral staircase, several dorms and classrooms, and the administration wing. There were now six additional buildings that housed more classrooms and dorms.

Many famous and infamous people had resided at Dalton over the centuries. One of it's first residents was Edward Farrington, who had escaped from prison in Salem, Massachusetts, after being accused of witchcraft.

He had not been the only person who had ties to the Salem trials to be associated with Dalton. It seems that in the aftermath of the witch hunts, several of the acquitted had left Salem and moved to the region. There had been rumors of a coven of witches in the area for as long as the building had been in existence, though Blaine had not found any evidence of such a thing in his research.

As for the man who had built the original building, all Blaine could find was that he'd appeared in the region sometime in 1693, befriended the local Shawnee tribe, and built the home sometime around 1694. By the time the British claimed the area as a territory in 1754, the man had been in his late 70's. He died peacefully in his sleep a year later. He had never married, never had children, although he had several 'adopted' children listed. The building, and two others that had been built on the property were willed to something called the Warbler Foundation, which is where the school's choir got it's name.

In the original documents, the foundation had twelve members listed, with W.M. Dalton listed as the head. W.M. Dalton had also been one of the people listed as an adopted child.

As far as he could find, the school was still owned by the foundation, but he couldn't find any information on it. The Address listed for the headquarters was Dalton itself, and the only person listed on its membership was a trustee known only by the initials W.J.M., who had apparently only taken over in the last two years. Prior to that, the trustee was listed as C.J. Henry.

Blaine had researched that name and had discovered that the previous trustee had been a student at Dalton back in the 70's, lead councilman of the Warblers, and then a member of the board of directors. He had died in a car accident two summers ago, on July 17th. Blaine had noted the date because it was his birthday.

A knock on his door drew his attention, and he stood, stretching out the kinks in his back and shoulders before answering the door.

His friend and fellow Warbler, Wes, smiled at him. "Did you finish your presentation for tomorrow?"

Blaine smiled in return. "Yeah, just now, actually. What about you?"

The older boy grinned. "I finished it over the weekend. Want to go get coffee?"

"Sure, sounds good." He shut down his laptop, grabbed his wallet, and joined the other boy in the hallway. "So, what is your presentation on?"

Wes laughed. "What do you think? I got selected to present the history of the Warblers."

Blaine chuckled. "Of course, what else would they assign the lead councilman?"

"Are you talking about the Founder's Day presentations?" David asked, joining them at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yes," Blaine said. "What is your presentation on?"

"The history of the region. I get to give all the boring details of the Native American Tribes in the area, when the British took over, when Ohio became a state, and when Westerville was incorporated."

"So, did either of you find anything shocking in your research?" Blaine asked, once they reached Wes' car.

"What do you mean?" The Asian boy asked.

"Well," Blaine began, fastening his seat belt. "I found out that this place had apparently been a refuge to several people associated with the infamous witch trials in Salem."

"Really? Cool," David said, absently fiddling with the radio.

"Yeah. And the guy who built the first building apparently was shrouded in mystery. No one seems to know where he came from. He just appeared one day. He never married or had children, but apparently he adopted several kids. After he died, he willed the property to The Warbler Foundation, which is how we got the name, by the way."

"Yeah, I read that." Wes replied. "W. M. Dalton had a pet warbler, the first in the line we present to new members. It was in his will when he died that the birds remain a part of Dalton tradition. Speaking of which, how is Pav?"

"He's fine, I think he's just getting ready to molt." He glanced out the window then. "Um, Wes, I think you missed the turn."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you I was making a quick detour first. I need to pick up my mom's birthday gift."

Blaine nodded and sat back. A minute later they pulled up in front of an unusual looking store, and Blaine followed the other two inside. As Wes spoke to the woman at the back of the store, the dark haired Warbler wandered around the displays of gemstones and uncut crystals. His attention was drawn to a fractured geode, about the size of his fist. From it's depths, a rich purple light was reflected up at him. He picked it up and studied the purple crystals nestled within.

It felt right in his hand.

…

The coven leader smiled as he watched the boy from the shadows. Things were proceeding as scheduled. Soon, the two would meet, and if the fates saw fit, the curse would be lifted.

…

Salem, Massachusetts, March, 1692

Midnight. The Witching Hour. The moon was high over head as Josiah approached the cliffs. He was dressed all in black, and wore a black hooded cloak to protect his identity if he were spotted.

He could see William silhouetted against the light of the full moon. The younger boy was using a dagger to draw a circle in the ground. He looked up and smiled as the pale boy approached. "Good, you are here! Come, step inside the circle, so I may close it."

Josiah did as instructed, and watched the other boy close the gap he had stepped through. The other boy then went to the center, where a slab of granite was being used as a make shift altar. From beside it, he picked up his bag, and retrieved four candles, and set them at the cardinal points of the compass, but did not light them yet.

Returning to his bag without speaking, he took out a large, shallow bowl made of stone. He placed it on the center of the altar, and quickly built a small fire inside it. Once it was burning steadily, he smiled at the other boy.

"Now we call on the elements for protection."

Josiah nodded, familiar with this part of the ritual, and together, they summoned forth Earth, Air, Water, and fire to protect them as they worked their magic. As each element was called upon, they lit the candle represented by that cardinal point. A fifth candle, representing spirit, was placed on the altar. Once the protective shield was cast, the two boys knelt across from each other at the altar.

William reached into his bag again, and withdrew a bundle of herbs, and sprinkled them over the small fire in the bowl. The scent of rosemary, cinnamon, and lavender filled the air.

"Now, what shall we try?" William asked, a mischievous smile on his face. "Should we call forth a warming wind to usher in spring? Or perhaps we should call on Earth to bring a bountiful yield to your crops."

Josiah considered for a moment. "What I want is to not be afraid. I want to be as courageous as you in these times. I am tired of living in fear."

William smiled at him, and nodded. "Then let us begin."

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I continue, I know I implied that one of the actual victims of the trials was a real witch. Sarah Good never confessed, but was found guilty of witchcraft and hung. I do not mean to disrespect her or her descendants in any way. Also, Edward Farrington was a real person, who was accused of witchcraft, and had been arrested. He managed to escape, and little is known of what happened to him after the hysteria ended. He died in Andover, Massachusetts, in 1747.
> 
> Reviews are always welcome!


	4. Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 19th, Abigail Hobbs, her stepmother Deliverance, Giles Corey, Bridget Bishop, and Mary Warren are all questioned before the Governor's council on suspicion of witchcraft. Deliverance confesses. Mary Warren, who had previously accused the Proctors and then claimed to have lied, is now also under the suspicion of witchcraft. Fearing for her life, she once again changes her story and claims that she was forced through trickery to reverse her claim.
> 
> April 22nd, nine more people are accused and/or questioned by the council.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On April 11th, 1692, Sarah Cloyce and Elizabeth Proctor are examined by Deputy Governor Thomas Danforth and members of the Governor's council on suspicion of witchcraft. On the same day, Elizabeth's husband, John, becomes the first man to be accused. Some time over the next few days, Mary Warren, the Proctor's servant and accuser, confesses to lying, and claims that the other girls are also lying, and that there are no witches in Salem.
> 
> On April 13th of that year, Ann Putnam Jr. accuses Giles Corey of witchcraft, and claims that the specter of a man who died on the Corey's property has attacked her.
> 
> Over the next month, fourteen more are accused. Sarah Osborne, one of the first to be accused, dies in prison. She had been suffering from a prolonged illness prior to her incarceration.
> 
> On June 2nd, Bridget Bishop becomes the first to be convicted of witchcraft. She is hanged at Gallows Hill on June 10th. Six days later, Roger Toothaker is the second to die in prison while awaiting trial.

Salem, Massachusetts, June, Summer Solstice, 1692

The moon cast long shadows as Josiah once again climbed to the apex of the cliffs. Despite the continued madness in the village, he walked with a new found confidence and grace. Under the careful tutelage of William, the older boy had finally begun to come into his full power.

As he arrived at their usual meeting place, he found William sitting with his back to the granite slab they used as an altar, lost in thought. Usually, the younger boy would have begun to cast the circle, or at least begun the preparations for their rituals by now.

Josiah moved to his side and sat beside him. "What is wrong?"

The darker boy looked at him, and there was obvious distress in his eyes. "Another of the coven has been taken into custody. Mother didn't want me to come tonight. And I think Father suspects something. Not of me, but of Mother."

Josiah considers him for a moment. "Perhaps we should forego tonight's ritual, then, if it is so dangerous."

William shakes his head no. "It is the Solstice. We should honor it. I had a special rite I wanted to share with you tonight."

The taller boy smiled, and nodded. "Then let us begin."

Together they cast the circle, and called on the elements to protect them. Once they had prepared, William smiled at him as they sat across the altar from each other. "Before we start, I have a gift for you."

He held out a small pouch, which Josiah accepted curiously. He upturned the cloth, and into his hand fell a bracelet of beads. Upon inspecting it in the fire light, he found the beads to actually be small gemstones; amethyst, tiger eye, agate, amazonite, clear quartz, rose quarts, and rhodochrosite.

The younger boy reached out and tied it around Josiah's wrist. "It will protect you, and bring you peace."

The taller boy smiled. "Thank you! I shall cherish it always. I have a gift for you as well."

From within the folds of his cloak, he retrieved a stone, about the size of his fist, and presented it to the smaller boy. "I found this while working the fields. Somehow I knew it was destined to be yours."

As William held the stone up to the firelight, fractals of purple gleamed and winked at him from within a fissure in the stone. The amethyst geode fit perfectly in his hand. He smiled back at the older boy. "Thank you! It will work perfectly with the rite I have in mind."

Josiah leaned forward. "What are we going to do?"

William studied him for a moment. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course!" There was no hesitation at all from the other boy. William nodded and took a large pouch from his traveling bag, and set it on the altar. Josiah could hear the clanking of more stones. He watched as William set the amethyst geode at the north cardinal point on the altar.

"Amethyst, for emotional balance." Josiah watched, enraptured, as the shorter boy reached into the pouch and pulled out another stone. The bluish green stone was the same color of Josiah's eyes.

"Labradorite, for magic and protection." He set the stone on the altar, a little to the right and slightly lower than the amethyst, at the 1 o'clock position. The next stone he pulled out was dark blue.

"Lapis Lazuli, for harmony." He set the stone at the 2 o'clock position. Next came a clear pink crystal.

"Rose Quartz, for peace, and love." Josiah's heart beat a bit faster as William's eyes seemed to darken as he spoke. The crystal was set at the 3 o'clock position. A carved piece of jade came next.

"Jade, for purity and balance."

More stones were placed in the positions of the clock. There were stones for protection, stones for the heart, and stones for harmony and balance. When only four positions were left, Josiah gasped as William looked into his eyes. The darker boy's eyes were filled with emotion, and the pale boy couldn't look away.

"Ruby, for courage, and love," William placed the red gemstone without looking away from the older boy. "Moonstone, for the Goddess, and for passion. Amber, for sexuality. And diamond, for unity."

Josiah found his breaths quickening as the final stone was placed. William reached across the alter, his hand palm up over the center of the circle of stones. There was a question in his eyes, and Josiah answered it, placing his hand in the younger boy's, that shiver of awareness tingling up his spine as it always did. Without looking away, the hazel eyed boy reached back into his bag and pulled out a small piece of rope, and bound their hands together, binding their souls.

Silently, they leaned over the altar, their lips meeting. The kiss started out as a gentle acknowledgment, but quickly grew into something more, as William cupped the pale boy's face in his unbound hand, and Josiah's free hand slipped into the hair at the shorter boy's neck, fisting a handful of the soft curls. Tongues dueled for dominance.

In the distance, a night bird began to sing.

…

The sun had just begun to breach the horizon as William made his way home. Only the hood of his robe hid the smile on his face. He had never been happier in his life. Josiah made him feel as if he could accomplish anything. That the other boy had willingly given himself was a gift he would treasure for all his life.

"And where have you been, Anderson?" The voice startled him out of his thoughts and he turned to face the tall brunette. Nathaniel Black reclined against a tree just off the deer trail William had been following between the cliffs and his home. "Let me guess, out for an early morning walk to clear your head?"

"I do not need to explain my actions to you," William said coldly. Nathaniel and his brother were part of the coven, but William had never liked the older boy. His green eyes always seemed to linger on his personage in a predatory manor that made the shorter boy feel dirty. Nathaniel's older brother seemed more laid back, but William knew the boy was just as dangerous as his kin.

"You do when you place us all in danger. You think we do not know you slip away in the night to dally with that outsider? Let the wolves take him, I care not. But if you are caught we may all hang!"

William sneered at him. "Is it that you fear the hanging tree, or that I chose him over you that has you upset?"

The taller boy advanced on him menacingly. "Stay away from that boy or I will see him dangle from a rope. He is an outsider, not one of us. A whisper in the right ear is all it would take."

"Harm a hair on his head, and we shall see once and for all who has the stronger magic." William said, and turned to walk away. He knew the other boy would not challenge him. His mother's line was one of the most powerful lines in the region. Still, he could feel the other boy's eyes like daggers in his back.

Nathaniel and his brother could be a problem for them in the future. He would have to warn Josiah.

He reached his home and quickly stripped out of his robe, hiding it and his traveling bag beneath the floorboard under his bed, before donning his nightshirt and laying down. He smiled as he recalled the night's events.

They had kissed for what seemed like hours, but he knew had only been minutes. When the need to breathe had forced them to pull apart, they had stared into each other's eyes, seeing their love reflected there. They had lain together on a bed of pine boughs, kissing and exploring each other, learning what pleased each other.

Clothes got in the way, and were shed. Josiah had traced a finger down his spine, and between the crease of his arse, touch light, yet nearly unbearable. And then those fingers had circled the tight ring of muscle, and William had to bite his lip to stop the cry of pleasure that had tried to escape. His whimper of need could not be contained, however, when one finger pressed inside him. They hadn't gone beyond that, but had brought each other to completion, writhing against each other.

Still smiling to himself at the memories, he fell asleep.

It seemed only moments later when he was awakened by his mother shaking him urgently. Judging by the light pouring in through the window, it was nearing midday.

"Hurry, there is not much time. Give me your robes, traveling bag, and dagger!"

"What? What is going on?" He said, reaching under the bed to retrieve the items.

"Your father is on his way with the other Magistrates. I have been accused. We must make certain there is no evidence they can use against you. I will hide your robe and tools in the old willow at the farthest edge of the property."

"But..."

"No buts. They have no evidence against me as yet, and they know nothing of your gifts. No matter what happens to me, you must not let them suspect you." She gathered up anything that could be used as evidence of witchcraft, and bundled it up in the robe. She gave him a quick hug. "Stay strong, do not fear. I will hide these in the willow and return before your father arrives. Get dressed and eat your breakfast. Act as if nothing is amiss."

…

Josiah wiped his brow wearily as he worked the field that afternoon, tending the crops. Theirs was a small farm, but with his father still recovering from his ailment, and no hands to help with the work, it all fell on Josiah to care for the corn, squash, and pumpkins, along with the smaller patches of beans and root vegetables.

As tiring as the work was, it could not distract him from the thoughts of the night before. He smiled softly to himself as he recalled the sound William had made when he had pressed a finger into his entrance. It had been music to his ears. He thought about what it would feel like if it had been his member sinking into the other boy. Someday, when this madness had passed, they would be together in that way. For now he was content to know their love was real.

"Would you look at that, Daniel, the sissy boy is day dreaming again. I wonder what he is thinking about?"

Josiah looked at the two boys leaning on the fence that surrounded their property. Gerald Neighbor was a large, muscular boy with short brown hair and hazel green eyes, while Daniel Parish was tall and lean, with darker, longer hair, and blue eyes.

"Probably thinking about Master Carter's swine," the thinner boy taunted. "It would be the only chance he'd have at love. No one else around here would touch him."

Josiah glared at the two boys. "The swine would at least be better company than you, and the conversation more stimulating."

"Watch it, fey boy. This is not the atmosphere to be making enemies in. One word can find you dancing to the hangman's tune. You are an outsider here."

"And?" Josiah crossed his arms over his chest as he sneered at them.

Gerald took a menacing step forward. "And, outsiders aren't welcome here."

The sound of a carriage approaching distracted the three boys, and Gerald and Daniel took off. Josiah watched them go. He was about to turn back to his work when the carriage came into view. It was the wagon used to transport prisoners to the courthouse where the examinations were being held. The pale boy felt fear coarse through him as he caught a glimpse of Goody Anderson in the back, head held high. She gave him a reassuring smile as they passed.

…

Lima, Ohio, October, 2010

"Why don't you go spy on the Garglers?"

Kurt glared at the Mohawked teen even as he corrected him. "Warblers."

"Whatever. You'd probably fit in just fine with them."

After a moment, Kurt gathered up his things. "Fine, maybe I will."

He'd been edgy all day, ever since his run in with Karofsky that morning. Maybe getting away from this school, even for a little while, would help settle his nerves. Of course it was too late to go today, he'd have to wait and go the next morning. It was almost a two hour drive to Westerville.

In the meantime, he'd go home and put together an outfit for his outing. He seemed to recall reading that Dalton Academy had a uniform. He'd have to blend in. The more that he thought of visiting the other school, the more a sense of anticipation filled him.

…

He stood outside the magnificent edifice that was the main building of Dalton shortly before lunch time the next day, and one thought kept slipping into his thoughts.

I'm home...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rite William performs is a variation of the Pagan Hand-fasting, or Marriage ceremony. I can not guarantee how accurate it is, as I borrowed from several different sources, and adapted for the needs of the story.


	5. Founder's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On June 29th of 1692, Sarah Good, Susannah Martin, and Rebecca Nurse are tried and found guilty of witchcraft. The next day, Elizabeth Howe is tried and convicted.
> 
> July 2nd, Sarah Wildes is convicted of witchcraft. All five women are hanged on July 19th. Shortly before her execution, Sarah Good gives birth to a daughter. The child, Mercy, dies within days of being born, the third person to die in jail.

Somewhere in an unclaimed territory, May, 1694

He was alive, but he wasn't really living. After he had burned the shell of his beloved, he had lain back down on the ground and waited for death to claim him, but death did not come.

Three days later, a hunting party of Shawnee Indians found him, barely conscious, delirious, and suffering from exposure. They carried him back to their camp, and nursed him back to health.

One of the younger men in the tribe had learned a few words of English from a trapper that they had traded with. He taught the young man to speak their language. Standing Fox, the Shawnee brave, earned the man's trust, and the young man told him his story, or at least part of it. The brave was surprised to learn the white man knew magic, and had assured him that his people respected those who wielded the power.

He stayed with Standing Fox and his people for a year, learning their ways, their customs. They considered him a friend, and welcomed him as such. But deep inside, he felt restless, as if he had unfinished business. He often found himself returning to the tree in the woods.

Today he sat below it, staring up at it's branches. As often happened when he came here, a small yellow bird sat amongst the limbs, and sang for him. This is where Standing Fox found him.

"Why do you dwell in the past, my friend? I understand that you are still grieving, but why do you tie yourself to this tree?"

He looked down at his hands, and sighed. "I told you what they did to him, how they killed him for loving me. But I never told you what I did. I allowed my emotions to rule me that day. In anger, I laid a curse upon the man who sired me. I do not regret what I did, but my actions have ramifications. My life is bound to this tree now."

The copper skinned man studied him for a while, considering. "You lashed out in anger, so must now find a way to balance it with love."

He looked up at his friend, surprised that the darker male understood. "Exactly, but I do not know how. I fear I no longer know how to love. Everything I was, I gave to him. My heart died with him."

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the songbird above. After a while, Standing Fox spoke again. "Perhaps it is not your love that is the key. Perhaps it is the tree. Perhaps if you were to build from it a shelter, a refuge, where love can grow within, you will find your balance."

He stared at his friend in awe. "You are a very wise man, Standing Fox. Thank you."

The next day, he returned to the tree with an ax. He stood there in silence for a moment, and then looked up to the sky with a small smile on his face.

"For you, my love," he whispered, and swung the ax. "For you, I shall build a shelter," another swing of the ax.

"For all who enter it to be safe."

Another swish-thunk

"For you, I will build a refuge where everyone is welcome."

SWISH-THUNK.

"For you, I will give them a place to learn that love is never wrong."

A few more loud swish-thunks, and a resounding crash. He watched the tree fall.

"For you, my love," he said, three months later, as he stood outside the large house. He had imbued each board with protective spells. Healing stones were embedded in the walls. He used every bit of magic he had to ensure a safe refuge for those who found their way here. Now to draw them in.

He stroked a finger over the tiny yellow bird's soft head as it perched in his hand. "Go, seek them out, and lead them here."

He released the songbird, and watched it fly off into the horizon.

…

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Wear a necklace of hope  
Side by side with me  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

…

Westerville, Ohio, October, 2010

Kurt stood there staring at the beautifully designed building, awed by the sense of welcome he felt. He could not shake the feeling that this was where he belonged. It was so shocking, he nearly turned around and went back home, needing to see his dad, to be sure he was alright. Burt Hummel had been his everything since his mother had died when he was eight. The only other time he had felt like this was when he'd hugged his dad after he woke up from his coma.

Taking a deep breath and shaking off those thoughts, he entered the building. The main entry way was breathtaking. He craned his neck up to see the magnificent glass dome, accentuated with ebony carvings that crowned the massive spiral staircase. Again, the thought flitted through his mind, I am home, at last.

He had thought that the boys would still be in class at this time, but there were several students in uniform milling about, talking in small groups. Most of them barely glanced at him, as if it was an everyday occurrence for some strange boy to show up.

Not certain where the music room was, he began wandering around, climbing up that spiral staircase. More boys in blue blazers stood along the landing, talking in low voices. Again, most of them didn't seem to notice him, but one boy seemed to be staring at him as if he was a ghost.

Feeling a little self conscious, Kurt walked in the opposite direction. From somewhere down the hall, he could hear someone delivering a speech. As he got closer, he could make out the voice. It was clear and deep, melodious. Familiar.

He was drawn towards the sound.

"...and the second floor additions were added in 1708, as construction on the second building finished. Known as Whitaker hall, the second building now incorporates the Math and Science classrooms. Construction on the third building, known as Amerynth Hall, began three years later. It now houses most of the dorms."

Kurt stopped, his heart suddenly racing. Why had the mention of those two names have him on the verge of a panic attack? As if from a long distance, he heard a voice in his head...

"Josiah Whitaker, you have been found guilty of the crimes of witchcraft and murder..."

Kurt blinked, shaking his head. What the hell? Suddenly very afraid of hearing anymore, he backed away and turned back down the hall, walking quickly. The boy who had stared at him a few moments ago was gone, so he continued on down the hallway in that direction. He found a secluded alcove with a window seat, and sat down, trying to calm himself, his hand absently fingering the beads on his bracelet.

…

Wes was waiting for the open house visitors to arrive in the Warbler Commons when Trent came rushing in.

"He's here!" The younger boy said, gasping for breath.

The Asian boy didn't ask who. There was only one person it could be. "Have they met yet?"

The round faced boy shook his head no. "He was heading towards where Blaine was giving his presentation. I came down to give you a heads up."

The lead councilman nodded his head, and pulled a chain from his pocket, slipping it over his head. "Watch the door."

Seeing the crystal hanging from the chain, the younger Warbler quickly went to the door to keep a look out.

Wesley Joseph Montgomery held the pendant clenched in his fist, and closing his eyes, murmured a short incantation, seeking outside himself for the two boys. He found Blaine first, just finishing up his presentation, and instructing the visitors to head down here for Wes' presentation.

Damn, he'd have to find the other boy quickly. He scanned the faces in the crowd of visitors, but found no sign of the pale, auburn haired boy. He broadened his search, and found him sitting in the east wing alcove, looking shaken. Something had upset him, but he didn't think he had encountered the heir yet.

Withdrawing back within himself, Wes opened his eyes. "They have not converged yet. The visitors are heading this way. Go, keep an eye on Blaine. Be discreet."

Trent acknowledged the coven leader, and left just as the first of the visitors reached the common room. Wes quickly returned the necklace to his pocket, and put on his most charming smile.

…

Kurt wasn't certain how long he had been sitting there, but the sudden influx of boys heading towards the stairs pulled him from his thoughts. He didn't understand why he was reacting so strangely to being here, but thought it prudent to be on his way. He began to make his way down the stairwell, going slowly, despite the rush of boys going past him.

He'd suddenly had a sense of foreboding, and disorientation, yet overriding that was a sense of anticipation. His heart once again began to race along just as quickly as the boys surging past him. He suddenly needed to know where everyone was going. It almost felt like his future depended on the knowledge. Without thinking, he called out to a passing boy.

The boy stopped and slowly turned to face him. Too slowly. It was almost as if time had slowed to a crawl.

Melted gold meet sea storm, and the Earth seemed to hold it's breath.

…

Blaine had the strange sensation as he'd given his presentation that something was coming. No, not something. Someone. He had begun to scan the crowd as he spoke, expecting to find a familiar face looking back at him, but none stood out.

The sensation had receded as he had nearly finished his speech, and his heart felt heavy, as if he had lost something precious. He had sent the visitors back downstairs to the Warbler's commons, and once the last straggler had left, he sank down on one of the chairs. He really didn't understand what was going on with himself lately. He was considering speaking to a counselor, but feared what they might say.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the amethyst geode, holding it up to the light. The lady at the store had said the stone provided clarity of thought. That was definitely what he needed now. And it did seem to help, as the purple stone glinted and twinkled. His mind felt calmer.

He lost track of time, and if it hadn't been for Trent spotting him as he passed the doorway and reminding him that they had a performance in a few minutes, Blaine might have been late. He checked his pocket watch as he descended the stairs and realized he had missed Wes' presentation, and David's.

His thoughts were interrupted as a voice called out. "Excuse me?"

…

Salem, Massachusetts, July, 1692

The woman stood stoically as the Magistrate, John Hathorne, read the proclamation against her.

"Amerynth Marie Dalton Anderson, you have been found guilty of witchcraft. You have been sentenced to hang for your crime. Will you confess and save yourself?"

She did not look at anyone, not even her own husband. She did not speak. She had said all she had needed to say earlier, when William had come to her to say goodbye. She had been allowed to hug him, and had whispered in his ear.

"Stay strong, do not mourn me. Remember, listen to the birds." She had wiped a tear from his eye, and smiled at him. They knew this could happen. She had made him promise not to fight it, to stay away. She did not want him to see this.

The Magistrate, taking her silence as her defiance to acknowledge her crime, placed the noose around her neck. The Gallows had been erected the previous month, when Bridget Bishop had been convicted. It had already seen several women dangle from it's rope.

The woman remained impassive, calm, serene, as death approached. Just as the lever was pulled, she finally made eye contact with the man she had been wed to for nearly twenty years. He gasped out in shock as the full weight of her glare bored into him as the platform dropped out from under her.

On the cliffs between the town and the village, two boys sat against a granite slab, holding each other. The shorter boy tensed when the tone of the birds' song changed. The other boy held him tighter.

"Shh. Courage. She would not want you to grieve."

The younger boy nodded, but did not relax. "She could have saved herself. She could have confessed. I know she chose this to protect me."

The pale boy nodded, and began to sing softly. After a moment, a small yellow warbler slipped from its perch in the tree near by and landed on the boy's out stretched hand, singing along with him. Josiah held out the small bird to his love as the song ended.

"Your mother will always be with you. You can still hear her when you listen."

William gently stroked the bird's head, and smiled sadly. He turned to the older boy. "I love you, Josiah Hummel Whitaker."

The pale boy smiled in return. "I love you, William Mathias Dalton Anderson."


	6. History Repeats Itself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Through out the month of August, 1692, Martha Carrier, George Jacobs Sr, John Willard, John and Elizabeth Proctor, And the former Reverend George Burroughs are all tried and convicted of witchcraft. On August 19th, all but Elizabeth Proctor are hanged. Elizabeth is granted a temporary stay of execution because she is pregnant.
> 
> Between September 6th and 17th, Dorcas Hoar, Alice Parker, Ann Pudeator, Martha Corey, Mary Bradbury, Mary Eastey, Samuel Wardwell, Wilmot Redd, Mary Parker, Margaret Scott, Abigail Faulkner Sr, Rebecca Earnes, Mary Lacy Sr, Ann Foster And Abigail Hobbs are tried for Witch craft. Rebecca Earnes, Mary Lacy Sr, Ann Foster and Abigail Hobbs all confess. The rest are found guilty and sentenced to hang. Abigail Faulkner is given a stay of execution because she is pregnant. Mary Bradbury escapes from prison.
> 
> On September 19th, Giles Corey refuses to be tried before God and Country, and is tortured to death by means of pressing; he was laid on the ground, a board placed over him, and large stones placed upon it until his rib cage shattered. His last words were, "more weight."
> 
> On September 21st, Dorcas Hoar is granted a stay of execution as several ministers plead her case.
> 
> September 22nd, Martha Corey, Mary Eastey, Alice Parker, Ann Pudeator, Margaret Scott, Wilmot Redd, Samuel Wardwell, and Mary Parker are the last to officially be hanged for witchcraft, but the madness continued.

Salem, Massachusetts, October, All Hallows Eve, 1692

William moved silently through the shadows on that Samhain night, no longer as carefree as he had been a few month ago. He had matured much since his mother's death. Only one thing kept him from being lost to despair and darkness.

He spied the young man in the distance, silhouetted against the three quarter waning moon atop the cliffs. Josiah had been his savior the last few months. The pale young man had accompanied him by the light of the nearly full moon that night in July to retrieve his mother's body from the shallow mass grave she had been tossed carelessly into.

Together they had carried her to the cliffs, where they cleansed her body, and dressed her in her finest gown, before placing her on a funeral pyre. As they watched the fire consume her, they had tossed flowers into the flames. As was customary, they sat and watched until there was nothing left but a pile of ashes, despite the chances of being caught.

Through out that night, Josiah had sang for Goody Anderson, and for William, songs of sorrow and rebirth. As the night wore on, they had lain in each other's arms, just holding each other in silence.

Tonight, they would honor his mother, and all those lost in this insanity. Samhain, or All Hallows Eve, was the night of the year where the veil between this world and the next was at its thinnest.

He smiled as Josiah looked up from where he was preparing for their rituals and spotted him. They hugged, and Josiah placed a kiss on his cheek. The older boy studied his face carefully for a moment.

"What news have you?"

William gave him a small smile. The pale man had always been able to read his face clearly. "They have disbanded the court. Most have been released from prison, though some remain until they can pay their fees."

The taller man seemed to sag in relief. "This is good news!"

William shook his head sadly. "There are still some who await trial, although they will now no longer be allowed to rely on spectral evidence alone. The coven is splintered, some wanting to seek revenge, the others just wanting the specter of this hysteria to be gone. A few are planning to slip away in silence, to move someplace calmer. And for Goody Good, and Mother, and the others, it is too late."

Josiah hugged him again, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Come, let us begin. We will honor those innocent lives lost, and perhaps give their souls some peace."

They cast their circle and called on the elements to protect them, then built a small fire in the center. They placed wine and food on the altar, refreshments for the spirits. They then spoke the name of each of the dead, sprinkling flowers and herbs into the fire, as they encouraged each soul to move on and be at peace. When it came time to invoke his mother's spirit, William choked up again.

"Amerynth Dalton, be at peace. May your soul be free, and when the time comes, may you be reborn into a life of happiness and joy. Farewell, mother." As he sprinkled the autumn flowers into the flames, a warbler sang a song of hope from a nearby tree, despite the lateness of the hour.

…

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where I told you to run  
So we'd both be free  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

…

Westerville, Ohio, October, 2010

Blaine paused before he turned to the voice that had called out to him on the stairs. Something about that voice was familiar, and the strange thought passed through his mind, he has come back!

When he turned, he found himself looking into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Blue, green and gray seemed to dance and swirl in them. He felt like he could drown in them. He blinked away that thought.

Blaine assumed by the way the boy was dressed that he was here for the Founder's day open house, and must have gotten lost. He smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Blaine."

"Kurt," the other boy said, taking his hand. A frisson shivered up his spine at the contact. The other boy must have felt it too, as he quickly took his hand back. Blaine felt bereft without it.

The other boy began to speak again. "So, what is going on here?" He indicated all the boys moving past them.

He smiled at the pale boy. "The Warblers. They're giving a performance today in the Warbler Commons. Tends to shut the school down for a while."

The other boy seemed surprised by this statement. "Your Glee club is cool here?"

He almost laughed at that question. "They're like rock stars! Come on, I know a short cut!" He grabbed the other boy's hand again, more for his own selfish reason than necessity. He all but dragged the other boy along as he ran down the Portrait Hall, and to the entrance of the Warblers Common.

As they passed through the carved door way, he heard the other boy gasp in surprise, and start to pull away. He turned to look at the boy, who had a shocked expression on his face. He seemed to try and hide it.

"Oh, I stick out like a sore thumb!" He said, but Blaine could tell that wasn't what had bothered him.

"You look fine. Now, if you'll excuse me." He smiled once more at the mysterious boy, and then stepped back and joined the Warbler's as they began to sing Teenage Dream.

…

"Nothing is happening," David complained to Wes quietly after the song had ended. "I thought that the curse would be lifted once they met!"

"Patience," replied the coven leader. "They must rediscover each other, and themselves. Neither of them have discovered their power yet, although the boy, Hummel, is on the verge, I think. The Catalyst is coming."

David, who had never been a very patient person, all but growled in frustration. Wes smiled at him. "Come on, let's invite the boy for coffee, try to get to know a bit more about him."

…

Kurt had been surprised when the other boy, Blaine, had taken him by the hand and pulled him along, but nothing could have prepared him for what had happened as he had passed through the elegantly carved doorway. He'd felt the sudden sensation of falling, and then an image had flitted through his mind. An angry mob, a gnarled tree, and a noose around his neck. And He had been there; Blaine. He'd had an anguished look on his face.

His vision cleared, and he glanced around, confused. The darker boy had paused, and looked back at him in concern. He couldn't explain what had happened, instead, focused on all the uniform clad boys. He spotted the cherub-looking boy who had stared at him earlier standing among a large group of boys in the center of the room. He smiled kindly at Kurt, and then turned and looked away. And then Blaine had released his hand and stepped back, smiling, and had begun to sing.

Kurt felt something inside him shift, and again was disoriented. What was happening to him? He began to worry that he was becoming ill. He had almost declined when the two other boys approached him and asked him to join them for coffee, but they seemed very nice, and he had agreed, especially when they asked Blaine to join them as well.

They had admitted they knew he was from McKinley, and had teased him about being a spy for the New Directions. They had all seemed so comfortable together, Kurt had asked if they were all gay. They had laughed it off, not offended in the least, and explained about Dalton's no bullying policy.

Kurt had nearly broke down and cried then, feeling a deep longing that he couldn't really fully understand. Wes and David, as they had introduced themselves as, excused themselves and left him alone with Blaine. They had talked about the bullying at McKinley, and at Blaine's old school. The golden eyed boy had encouraged him to face the bullies head on.

When he had left a while later, he had felt better, but as he drove away, he couldn't help feeling as if he had left something important behind.

…

While Blaine was occupied with Kurt, Wes called a meeting of the coven. They were all aware of who Kurt was, and that the two boys had been reunited, and a sense of eager anticipation clung to the twelve boys gathered around their leader.

Nick and Jeff were all but dancing for joy, while Thad and Beatz talked excitedly. David and Trent were going over everything they had observed. Wes banged his gavel for attention.

"Yes, it is a very good day for all of us, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Dalton's curse on the Anderson Heir still stands until Kurt figures out how to break it. And let's not forget Black's curse."

The other boys sombered up. Wes looked out over the faces looking back at him. "Until we free ourselves from Black's curse, our souls are trapped here. We must free Dalton's spirit, so that we may move on. I still believe that the key to breaking our curse is to break the curse on the Anderson boy. We must make sure that none of Black's descendants interfere. We must remain vigilant."

…

Unbeknownst to the Dalton coven, another being had already set in motion a plan to keep the McKinley spy from breaking the curse.

…

Blaine could not stop thinking about the auburn haired boy. Two days had passed since Founder's day, and he could still clearly see those sea surge eyes and feel their pull. He didn't understand his infatuation with the boy. He sat in a coffee shop near the mall, still thinking about the strange reactions he'd had each time he'd touched the boy. For the first time in over two years, he began to feel again. He wasn't certain what exactly he was feeling, but he didn't want to lose it again.

As he'd spoken with the other boy, he'd been content, almost as if a weight he hadn't known he'd had had been lifted from his shoulders. They had exchanged phone numbers, and Blaine had considered calling the pale boy, but had settled for a text instead. One simple word.

As if drawn by his thoughts, his phone jingled an incoming call, and he smiled when he saw the caller ID.

"Hello, Kurt!" He said.

There was a discordant sound on the other end of the phone, and Blaine frowned as he thought he heard someone sniffling. "B-Blaine?"

"Kurt, what's happened?" Blaine listened to the other boy's explanation, cold rage filling him. He stood and quickly gathered his things and heading for the door. "I'm on my way."

As he stepped out the door, he collided with another person who had been heading to the door as well. He apologized to the older male, taking in the other man's long curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The other man smiled at him.

"Not a problem. I wasn't paying attention, and I seem to have spilled my drink on you."

Blaine glanced down, just noticing the dark colored liquid seeping into his skin. He stared at it blankly for a moment. Something didn't seem right, but suddenly his thoughts seemed to cloud over. The other man was whispering something he couldn't understand.

After a moment, he blinked, in confusion. Where was he going? Oh yes. Kurt needed his help. He'd been thinking of Kurt earlier, but now he couldn't recall precisely what he'd been thinking.

...

Salem Massachusetts, November, All Saints day, 1692

Josiah quickly made his way back home the next morning. While he loved being with William, he was concerned for his father. His health had once again taken a turn for the worse. Now that Amerynth was gone, there was no healer to help him, and he feared this time the older man wouldn't recover.

His thoughts kept warring between concern for his father and memories of the night before with William. After they had completed their rite, they had lain together, kissing and touching, needing the affirmation of life. He remembered each brush of the lips, every caress of finger tips, the sweet sounds his love had made. He had wanted to join them in the most intimate way possible, but knew William's emotions were still running wild after the events of the past several months. He would wait until things returned to normal around them.

William had seemed to understand, and had actually sung to him, and Josiah had felt content to lay there in his love's arms.

He was nearly home, still lost in his thoughts, when rough hands grabbed him and pulled him deeper into the woods. He struggled, and would have called out, but a beefy hand covered his mouth. He was shoved up against a tree, and in the predawn light he could make out the features of Gerald Neighbor standing before him.

"I know what you are. I know what you've done. I won't let you get away with it!" The larger male growled at him. "Did you think I wouldn't figure out what you did? That you placed this spell over me?"

Josiah struggled harder, but was no match for the larger male's strength. He didn't know what the other boy was talking about. He had cast no spells on the boy.

"Oh no," the stronger boy said, shaking him, and then backhanded him, briefly stunning him. "You did this to me, you will suffer the consequences!"

And before Josiah could understand what was about to happen, the other boy was kissing him, and groping at his clothes. The smaller boy froze, in shock, and then suddenly he felt the magic building up inside of himself, and he thrust it out, forcing the other boy away from him. He just stood there for a moment glaring, and then before the larger boy could recover, he took off running, and made it to his home, heart pounding in fear.

The hysteria had been winding down. Would Gerald stir it up again, claiming that Josiah had enspelled him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the preface of this chapter, I mention Mary Bradbury, who escaped from prison after her conviction. She has many famous descendants, including; American Sci Fi author Ray Bradbury, Actor Christopher Reeve, Actress Linda Hamilton, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and astronaut Alan Shepard. She is also related to the Roosevelts, Willard Fillmore, Humphrey Bogart, and Calvin Coolidge.


	7. The Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no new arrest between October and December, 1692, and many of those in prison, who were charged on 'spectral evidence' alone, are set free, although some are detained until they can pay their fees. Some remain in prison awaiting trial. The Court of Oyer and Terminer is disbanded, and replaced with the Superior Court of Assizes and General Goale Delivery. Trials resume in January of 1693.
> 
> On January 4th, 1693, Sarah Buckley, Margaret Jacobs, Rebecca Jacobs, and Mary Whittredge are tried and found not guilty. On the 5th, Job Tookey and Hannah Tyler are tried and found not guilty. On the 6th, Mary Marston, Elizabeth Johnson Sr., and Abigail Barker are tried and found not guilty. On January 7th, Mary Tyler is tried and found not guilty. On the 9th, Rebecca Johnson is cleared by proclamation.
> 
> On the 10th, Sarah Wardwell is tried and found guilty. Her two daughters, Sarah Hawkes and Mercy Wardwell, are tried and found not guilty. On the 11th, Elizabeth Johnson Jr. is tried and found guilty. Mary Black is cleared by proclamation. On the 12th, Mary Post is tried and found guilty. Mary Bridges Sr., Hannah Post, Sarah Bridges, and Mary Osgood are tried and found not guilty. Thomas Farrar Sr. is cleared by proclamation. On the 13th, Mary Lacy Jr. is tried and found not guilty.
> 
> On February 1st, Sarah Cole (of Lynn), Lydia Dustin, Sarah Dustin, Mary Taylor, and Mary Toothaker are tried and found not guilty. Lydia Dustin is not released because she is unable to pay her jailer's fees. On the 3rd, Jane Lilly is cleared by proclamation. On the 21st, Governor Phips writes to England that fifty-three people have already been cleared, failing to be indicted by grand juries or found not guilty at trial, and that he has vacated the death sentences of those who have been sentenced to be executed.
> 
> On March 10th, Lydia Dustin dies in custody. On April 25th, John Alden is cleared by proclamation. On May 10th, Susannah Post, Eunice Frye, Mary Bridges Jr., Mary Barker, and William Barker Jr. are tried and found not guilty. Sarah Cole (of Salem), Dorothy Faulkner, Abigail Faulkner Jr., Martha Tyler, Johannah Tyler, Sarah Wilson Sr., and Sarah Wilson Jr. are cleared by proclamation. A grand jury fails to indict Tituba. On the 11th, William Hobbs is cleared by proclamation.
> 
> On May 27th, Josiah Whitaker is tried for murder and witchcraft. He is sentenced to hang.

Salem, Massachusetts, May 26th, 1693

Josiah sat in the shade of a tree in the small cemetery, brushing imagined dust from the tombstone. He placed the bunch of gathered spring wildflowers on his father's grave. As he stared at the carved stone, he thought about the last seven months.

He had lived in fear that Gerald would run to the authorities and accuse him of witchcraft, but the larger boy had remained silent. Was it because he feared the pale boy's power, or because he feared his own secret becoming known? Josiah didn't know, but avoided the boy as often as possible. It had been easy as the winter months settled in. Freezing temperatures and heavy snow kept most of the villagers indoors in November and December.

This had also made it harder to sneak away to spend time with William, but they had managed on each full moon, and on an occasional afternoon. Unfortunately the harsh weather in January had taken its toll on his father, and he had passed late one evening in early February. Josiah had never felt so alone, with only the sporadic visits from his love to relieve the bleak thoughts chasing through his mind. He had not told William about Gerald's kiss and accusation. He feared the younger boy would seek revenge, and the cry of witchcraft would start up again.

March finally arrived, and with it, the first breath of spring. William came to visit him more often, and on the Vernal Equinox, they had met at their spot on the cliff to celebrate. They had cast the circle, and then performed a rite to bring peace and solace for the coming year. Afterwards, Josiah could fight temptation no longer, and they had truly become lovers.

He smiled softly to himself as he recalled that night two months ago. Now William often came to his home in the dark of night.

As the hysteria of the past year had begun to wane, and the gallows was dismantled by royal proclamation, many of the coven had left the area, though the Black brothers remained. Nathaniel had begun following Josiah around, taunting him, saying that he could steal William away from him easily.

"One kiss from my lips is all it would take to make him forget about you. You are pathetic, unworthy of him. Someday soon he'll see that you are weak, and will lose interest in you."

Josiah simply ignored the other boy and went about his business, content in the knowledge that William loved him like no other.

Sighing, Josiah bid his father farewell, and wiping the dirt from his breeches, left the cemetery. With a smile on his lips, he gathered up his pack and began the climb towards the cliffs, the warm breeze ruffling his hair. William had asked him to met him there at sunset. They were going to go away together. Someplace no one knew who they were. Someplace they could be together without fear of being caught.

He was early, he knew, but he didn't care. He was happy, content for the first time in months. His steps were light, and he was singing. He was so lost in his own world, he didn't notice the two boys slip from the shadows behind him.

…

William couldn't keep the smile from his face as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder and set out for the cliff. Soon they would be free of this place, free of the speculation, and free to be together. The birds in the trees, sensing his mood, sang louder, and he began to sing along with them.

He hadn't gotten very far before a figure stepped out into his path. "Going somewhere, Anderson?"

He frowned at Nathaniel, but didn't stop walking. "It is none of your business if I am."

"Off to play house with the outsider?"

William didn't look back at the other boy. Nathaniel was just an annoying pest in his ear.

"He's just using you, you know. He'll take all he can from you, your wealth, your power. He's nothing more than a leech. You'd be better off with him gone."

"Watch what you say, Black. Josiah is very powerful in his own right. And if anyone around here is a leech, it is you. You constantly want what you have been denied repeatedly. I shall never be with you."

The other boy snarled. "And you shall never be with him! I've seen to that!"

William did not want to believe the other boy, but the birds had suddenly begun to sing a warning. He spun around and slammed the boy up against a tree. "What did you do?"

The taller boy just laughed maniacally. "You won't get there in time. Neighbor and Parish will teach him a lesson, and then throw him from the cliffs!"

William punched the other boy, and then dropped his bag and began to run.

…

Josiah didn't have a chance to defend himself, the first blow left him stunned. The two boys dragged him into the woods, and proceeded to beat him. He screamed in agony as the blows seemed to go on forever.

And then suddenly the beating stopped, and he felt a hand groping at him. "You cast this spell on me! Now take what you wanted!"

He felt his breeches torn, and a hand roughly grabbing at him. Suddenly he found a burst of strength, and broke away from Gerald. Daniel just stood there in shock, not realizing what the darker boy had planned.

Josiah managed to stagger away, holding his pants up and running for the cliffs. Somewhere, somehow, his bracelet slipped off. He saw a form running towards him, and collapsed in William's arms, sobbing.

…

William saw the bruised and bloodied face of his love, the torn clothes, the shattered look, and the power swelled inside him. He heard Nathaniel running up behind him, saw the other two boys converge from the woods.

Screaming in wordless furry, he felt the wind racing around him as he held Josiah tightly to him. With the force of a hurricane, he hurled the wind at the other boys. It picked them up, slammed them together, knocked them into trees, and forced them to the edge of the cliff. Josiah whimpered in pain, and William lost control. Another, stronger blast of wind sent the three boys tumbling from the precipice, their screams cut off suddenly by the jagged rocks below.

The use of power left him feeling weak, and he collapsed to his knees, still clasping Josiah to him. From a distance, he could hear someone calling his name, but didn't have the strength to move. Moments later, his father came upon him, and saw him holding the other boy intimately. Other men rushed into the clearing, including the elder Black brother. There were shouts and confusion, but William was in a state of shock, and did not respond to anyone or anything. Someone shouted when they spotted the bodies at the base of the cliff.

Josiah was pulled from his grasp, and William became like a feral animal, attacking those around him, until he collapsed from exhaustion. He heard someone singing softly as he sank into the darkness.

…

The pale boy was in shock, pain and despair clawing at him. He could hear everything that was going on around him, but he could not bring himself to care, until hands grabbed him and yanked him roughly away from his love. He saw William thrashing and attacking those around them. Fearing the other boy would harm himself, or make them believe he was bewitched, he began to sing softly, a lullaby.

Unfortunately, his actions backfired. "He has bewitched my Son! You all are witness to this! See how he controls him?"

Josiah didn't have the strength to protest as his hands were bound behind him, could only wince at the pain. He was certain his ribs were bruised, and his left shoulder dislocated. They carried him away, and locked him in a cell.

He had only one thought, protect William at all cost. If it meant allowing them to execute him for witchcraft, he would do it to protect the man he loved.

…

The trial was a mockery. He only spoke once, when they asked for his plea. He glared at them, face still swollen and bruised. "They attacked me. I defended myself." He would not let them see his fear, would not let them see how much pain he was in. His only concern was that William was not there. Was he alright?

He remained stoic as they read the verdict. "Guilty."

He remained stoic as they sentenced him to be hung immediately, "to stamp out the witchcraft, once and for all!"

He remained stoic as he was lead to the gnarled tree near the cliffs, and stood on the wooden block. He glared out at the crowd as the noose was placed around his neck.

His only regret was that he would not get the chance to tell William one last time that he loved him.

…

William woke slowly, unsure where he was. As the world came slowly into focus, he recognized his own bedroom. How had he gotten here? And where was Josiah? As the thought flitted through his mind, he had a distinct memory of his father cruelly pulling the boy out of his arms. He sat up and looked around. The house was silent. His father was gone, then.

He dressed quickly, intending to go to Josiah's home and see that he was alright. As soon as he stepped outside his door into the midday light, however, he knew that something was wrong. The birds were silent. A flash of yellow caught his attention, and a small warbler flew near, dropping something at his feet, before retreating into the woods. He glanced down at the object glinting in the sunlight.

Josiah's bracelet.

His heart raced, fear coiling through him. He picked the strand of stone beads up, and suddenly, he knew. He could feel the other boy's fear, could sense his resolve to protect him.

William began to run, the birds in the sky guiding him. He broke into the clearing with a shout. "Father! Stop!"

He saw his love's face fall at the sight of him. "William! You should not have come!"

But he had to. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let the man he loved die for him. He heard his father speak, to call his love an affliction.

"Love is not an affliction! I love him!" He could hear the murmurs of the crowd, but all he could focus on was the man who held his heart.

"William! No! Don't!" Josiah sobbed.

He turned to the pale boy. "I cannot let them do this to you! It was I who killed those boys! I confess! They attacked Josiah! I killed them to protect him!"

"No! He lies!" Josiah screamed, but William didn't stop.

"I am the one who enspelled him, Father!"

The crowd began to murmur among themselves, some looking between the two boys speculatively, some with a calculating look in their eyes.

"He has confessed to witchcraft!" He heard the elder Black brother shout.

"No! He is bewitched! He would say anything to save his master!" His father shouted, but the grumbling of the spectators grew in volume, and some of them began to push forward, unheeding of the Magistrate's proclamation.

"He is a witch!" Black shouted.

"Take him to the jail!" Gerald Neighbor's father screamed.

"William! No!" The bound boy shouted. "Run, my love! Save yourself!"

"I will not leave you!" William tried to reach for him, but cruel hands pulled him away.

"Stop!" Nathaniel Anderson called out, trying to place himself between his son and the mob calling for his arrest. "Once the witch is dead, my son will come to his senses! He is innocent!"

"Run, William! Please! Get away!"

The Magistrate turned to the accused. "This is your fault! You infected my son's mind with your corruption! The Devil take you!"

He saw his father kick out, knocking the block of wood out from under Josiah. The resounding snap of the neck was shockingly loud in the sudden silence. For a moment, all was still, except the swaying of the body, and a small yellow bird that had been startled from it's perch in the tree's branches, causing the songbird to take flight.

William could only stare in shock for a moment, refusing to believe that his love was dead. He reached out a hand, but could not touch that beloved face, for that would force this to be true.

He clenched his fist as the power began to surge within him, stronger than he had ever felt it before. Slowly he turned to face the man who had sired him, who he hated more than anyone else.

"You killed him! How could you! You killed him!"

"I did it to protect you! His spell over you is broken now!"

William looked down at the ground, closing his eyes briefly. He could feel Black's gloating gaze upon him, fueling his rage even more. When he glanced up, he saw his father flinch in fear as he saw the raw power glowing there. His mother's line had been one of the most powerful in all of Europe, and the most powerful among the coven here, and he harnessed every ounce of that power now.

"I was never under his spell, Father." As the dark boy spoke, the ground beneath his feet began to shake. The crowd began to panic as they stumbled against each other. Even Black was stunned by the amount of power he was using. The skies overhead darkened with storm clouds, as all of the elements converged within him. "I am my Mother's child! It was she who taught me the craft in secret! Do you think I did not know it was you who had her accused and hung? And now you have killed the man I loved!"

He could barely contain his rage, could feel the Earth roiling beneath his feet as it soaked up his emotions. He felt as if he could rend the Earth in two, destroy them all for what they had done to his precious Josiah.

"I am the witch you seek, Father! Now hear my words, for this is my curse upon you! You shall remarry, and produce a son, and he will grow and produce a son, and he will produce a son, but none of them will be content in life! Their love will wither and die inside them, and they will know no joy, for generations to come, until the day my love is reborn. Only he will have the power to break the curse!"

He clenched his love's bracelet in his fist, whispering to the man before him as the power broke free. "You are no longer my father. From this day forward, I claim my Mother's name. William Anderson is dead!"

Thunder boomed, echoing in his ears as lightning flashed, and he felt himself being transported away in a vortex of wind.

"Long live Mathias Dalton," he whispered into the sudden silence, before he collapsed, spent.

…

Lima, Ohio, October, 2010

Kurt smiled down at his phone as he read the single word again. Courage. He had found himself smiling more in the last few days than he had in almost a year. Blaine made him feel as if he could take on anyone or anything.

Which is why he found himself chasing down Karofsky minutes later, after the jock had slapped his phone out of his hands and shoved him into a locker. He confronted the boy, demanding to know why the jock would not leave him alone. They shouted in each other's face.

And then the larger boy was kissing him. He stood in shock for a moment. Something snapped inside of him. He felt something welling up, and then burst forth from him. He was surprised when the larger boy stumbled away, pushed back by an unseen force.

Kurt felt a tingle from the bracelet on his wrist, but could only stand there, staring at the stunned football player. After a moment, realizing what he had done, Karofsky punched the locker next to Kurt's head, and ran from the locker room.

Suddenly feeling weak and shaken, the pale boy slipped to his knees. What the hell had just happened? He felt tears begin to fall from his eyes. He didn't know what to do. Instinctively, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

…

In a hidden underground cellar below Dalton Academy, Wes opened his eyes. "He has awakened."


	8. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the atrocities of the Salem witch trials, the village of Salem was renamed Danvers, Massachusetts. Salem Township became Salem, Massachusetts. The King of England recalled Governor Phips, stating that he was no longer fit to govern. Most of the accusers never apologized for their false testimony, although Ann Putnam Jr offered a public apology in front of the church. Reverend Samuel Parris, after first refusing to admit his role in the hysteria, reluctantly offered a statement that merely said he might have been mistaken in his declarations of witchcraft.
> 
> Having been in an on going dispute with the church prior to the happenings over the church withholding pay due to infractions on the minister's part, Parris was stripped of his ministry and subsequently banned from Salem Village. His replacement spent the following years trying to repair the damage to the church and it's congregation.
> 
> The new Governor ordered restitution be paid to the victims and the families of those who lost their lives. It took two hundred and fifty years for the final accused witch's name to be cleared. In 1993, the three hundredth anniversary of the final trial, a memorial for the victims was erected in Salem.

Unclaimed Ohio territory, June, Summer Solstice, 1695

The young man looked up from the garden he was tending when he heard the sounds of a horse approaching, the herbs momentarily forgotten as he listened to the birds in the trees announcing his guest. He smiled sadly when he saw the man, who looked much older now than he had when last he saw him.

"Edward! It is good to see you, old friend."

The older man looked him over as he dismounted. "You've aged quite a bit in two years, William."

The man frowned. "I am called Mathias now."

The older man nodded his head. "I heard about that day at the tree. I am sorry."

Edward Farrington was not a witch, but had been a friend of the coven. He had been accused after his association with certain coven members was brought into question, but had escaped from prison with the help of Mathias' mother and another coven member.

The younger man smiled. "How did you manage to find me?"

Edward laughed. "A friend of yours guided me." He indicated the yellow warbler that suddenly swooped down out of the sky.

Mathias smiled, and the bird landed in his hand. He stroked the tiny head, and sang softly to his old companion. "Well done, my sweet. Rest now, and then find the others."

The bird whistled softly, nipping lightly at his finger affectionately, before flying off to settle down in an overhead branch. Mathias turned back to the other man. "Come inside and rest. After you've refreshed yourself and had a meal, we can share news."

The two men talked into the evening hours, talking about those who had perished, and those who had escaped. Edward filled him in on some of the things that had happened after he had disappeared that day that he had learned from other coven members who had left Salem after the trials.

"Nathaniel was all but thrown out of the village, though not before he tried to clean up behind himself. He apparently destroyed the records of your mother's accusation and trial." The older man looked at him sympathetically. "I'm so sorry about what happened to your mother. I fear it was her aide in my escape that made your father suspicious."

Mathias frowned at the reference to his father, but patted the older man on the back. "She understood the risk. Her only regret was that she was unable to save others."

When night fell, and the Solstice moon rose, Mathias made his way to the clearing where the gnarled tree once stood, and cast his circle of protection, the stump at it's center used as his altar. As he had done each of the last two years on this night, he lit the fire in the stone bowl, and set the circle of stones just as he had that night when he had bound Josiah to him. He placed the bracelet of stone beads in the center, and wept for his lost love.

"I miss you so much, my love. Please, come back to me soon. I do not know how long I can go on without you."

From high above, though the hour was late, the warbler sang it's song of sorrow and hope.

…

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where they strung up a man  
They say who murdered three  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

…

Lima, Ohio, November, 2010

Kurt hadn't known what to think after the incident in the locker room. He didn't understand the rush of power that had surged through him, so had shoved it to the back of his mind for the moment, his brain refusing to acknowledge more than one strange phenomenon at a time, and so focused on the kiss instead. Something tangible that could be more easily explained.

But the explanation was almost as beyond belief as the surge of power. David Karofsky had kissed him. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, he thought more about the kiss. On his part, all he had felt was revulsion and wrongness, but the other boy had seemed desperate, as if his life had depended on that kiss. But then Kurt recalled the look on the other boy's face, the horror as he had realized what he had just done.

It had almost been like the boy had been compelled, and had been terrified that he had revealed his secret. Kurt could understand that. He himself had been scared to admit he was gay at first. Suddenly, all the bullying, the tormenting made more sense. It didn't make it right, but Kurt understood the other boy much better now. And it also made him more afraid. What would Karofsky do now that Kurt knew his secret?

He needed to talk this through with someone who would understand, but who was also outside of the situation. He couldn't risk Karofsky's wrath should his secret be revealed. He called the only person he could think of.

When Blaine arrived a little over an hour and a half later, Kurt noticed something seemed off with the boy. He had the same dapper persona, but it seemed more forced than before. He wondered if the younger boy wasn't feeling well. He almost asked if there was something wrong, but the darker boy distracted him, asking where Karofsky was at that moment.

They ended up confronting the boy on the courtyard stairs. When the larger jock shoved Blaine, Kurt feared the worst, especially when something dark seemed to seep into Blaine's eyes, but the younger boy just put up his hands defensively, while Kurt grabbed the aggressive boy's arm and pulled him away. For a moment, Kurt had once again felt that power welling within him. Was that why Karofsky suddenly seemed to panic and pull away? Had he felt it too?

Emotions overwhelming him, he sat dejectedly on the step as Blaine straightened his blazer. "What's wrong?" the darker boy asked.

What isn't wrong? He thought. Sighing, he once again pushed the thought of that power rushing through him away. "It's just that, up until today, I had never been kissed. At least not one that counted."

Once again something passed over the shorter boy's expression, but was gone before Kurt could really register it. "Come on," the Warbler said. "I'll buy you lunch."

…

As Kurt lay in bed that night with no more distractions, his mind began to dwell on that strange surge of power he had felt twice now, his fingers absently tracing the band of beads around his wrist. The lady at the street fair that he had purchased it from professed that the gemstones had mystical meaning, and Kurt had felt something when he had put it on. Was it the bracelet that was causing these surges of power?

He suddenly recalled the sensation he had had when he passed through the unusual doorway at Dalton, the feeling of falling, and the...vision was the only word he could think of to call it. He had seen himself standing beneath a gnarled tree with a noose around his neck. And he recalled the words the man had said.

"Josiah Whitaker, you have been found guilty of the crimes of witchcraft and murder."

Who was Josiah? Was he a witch? He recalled the research he had done for his American History report on the Salem witch trials. He didn't recall seeing that name anywhere, but the diary had said that another boy had been hanged. The name of the boy hadn't been clear, as the diary had been worn and faded in spots. Was he an ancestor of Kurt's?

Unable to sleep, he got up and booted up his laptop. He researched the name Josiah Whitaker, but found nothing relevant. He tried cross referencing the name Whitaker and Salem Village. An image of a tombstone appeared, the dark stone worn by time, but the words carved on it remained clear;

Jacob Whitaker

b. 1654, d.1693

Beloved Father

1693? That was the year the witch trials had ended. He scrolled through to see if he could find anything else. He almost missed it, the article was so obscure. It was about crop yields a year prior to the chaos. It listed each farm, and their crops. The Whitaker farm was listed second from the bottom, with the name Josiah Hummel Whitaker listed along side that of Jacob Whitaker as owners.

He felt a strange twisting in his stomach when he read it. Hummel. It wasn't a very common name to his knowledge. Perhaps he should ask his dad about it.

He shut down the laptop and was laying in bed again, his thoughts still unsettled. Okay, so he had found a potential ancestor who lived in Salem Village during the witch trials. Was he really thinking that witchcraft might be real?

"Josiah Whitaker, you have been found guilty of the crimes of witchcraft and murder."

Murder? Who had Josiah murdered, and why? Did he actually kill someone?

Exhaustion pulled at him, and eventually he fell asleep. Dreams plagued him; A boy with kind hazel eyes that seemed familiar. A ceremony on a cliff at midnight, two hearts bound for eternity. A stolen kiss (Kurt couldn't tell if this was part of the dream or if the incident with Karofsky was trying to push into his mind.) Fear and chaos as people cried Witch again and again. Strong hands holding him as they made love. And then pain and humiliation, fear coursing through him as he ran towards the cliffs, only to collapse into the arms of his love. The other boy's face contorted with pain and fear at seeing him battered and bruised. The howling of wind, as the other boy drew on the powers of air and sent them hurtling towards the boys who had tormented them. Those boys tumbling from the cliffs. The mockery of a trial, and then the hanging tree.

He woke with tears in his eyes, even as the memory of the dream began to fade. He tried to hold on to them, but the details faded, leaving only one clear thought. Josiah was no murderer.

…

"Hey dad?" He said after school as he was helping out at the garage. He was afraid to ask his dad out right about Josiah, and had been thinking all day about how to broach the subject. "Does our family have any unusual stories?"

"What do you mean, Kiddo?" Burt Hummel asked from under the 2008 Toyota Camry he was working on.

"You know, like how some people have stories about an ancestor along the lines of 'my great great great granddad was an Irish priest who came to America to visit family and was defrocked when he fell in love with an Indian maiden?'"

Burt slid out from under the car and scrounged in his tool box before he answered. "I think every family has some kind of story to tell. Why are you asking?"

"We're doing an assignment in one of my classes about our family history," he lied smoothly. "I just wondered if there were any really cool stories I could share."

Burt found the tool he was looking for, and began to slip back under the car. "I'm sure there are. Why don't you call your Grandma Amy and ask her? I'm sure she'll have plenty of stories to tell you."

Amy Hummel was Kurt's Great Grandmother. She was in her late 90's, and still as spry as ever. She had caused a bit of scandal when she was much younger when she chose to keep her maiden name when she had married Charles Martin way back when. Charles hadn't minded, he loved Amy to death, and indulged her every whim, including allowing her to pass on her family name to their children. Amy had been the last of the Hummel line, other than a female cousin who was a nun, where as Charles had six brothers to carry on the Martin name.

Kurt loved his Great Grandmother. She was sassy and didn't take crap from anyone, always calling it as she saw fit. "Yeah, maybe that is a good idea."

After dinner that night, he dialed the Columbus extension, and waited patiently for the older woman to answer.

"Kurt? Darling, how are you doing?"

"I'm okay, Grandma. I was calling to ask you about our family history. I'm doing a project for school, and I was wondering if you could tell me some of the more interesting stories about our family line."

There was a long pause before the older woman answered. "Why are you lying to me?"

"What?" Kurt asked, surprised. What had given him away?

"Kurt, dear, we both know why you are calling. Have you felt the awakening yet?"

"The what?" He was truly confused now.

"It's alright, sweetheart, it isn't something to fear. Come see me tomorrow after school, and we will talk about your gifts."

"Gifts?" He asked, feeling weak.

"Yes, your magical gifts."

…

Unclaimed Ohio Territory, October, Samhain, 1701

He smiled out at the dozen figures gathered around the fire that Samhain night. Two of them were old friends from the Salem coven who had made their way here through the guidance of the warbler. Seven had followed the first two, having come from other covens across the territories. Three of them had come from across the ocean to find them. The eldest was in his eighties, the youngest just nine years old, an orphan with no one to guide him. He had reminded Mathias of his beloved, and the young man had taken him into his home, made him his son and heir.

These were the men and women of the Dalton coven. Each had their own story, their own reason for being here, and they were fiercely loyal to each other. Despite his young age, they looked to Mathias as their acknowledged leader. They knew his pain, his loss. They knew of the curse he had lain on the one who had sired him. They did not judge him.

He lead them in the rite that moonless night, as they paid their respects to loved ones who had gone before them. They had nearly finished with their rituals when a voice cut through the night.

"William Anderson! Show yourself!"

Unnerved by the use of his former name, Mathias peered out into the shadows, recognizing the voice.

"Jeremiah Black! Why do you interrupt us? We honor our deceased on this Samhain night!"

The older male stepped in to the light at the edge of the sacred circle, but did not breach it's boundaries. "I come seeking vengeance for my dead! The brother you murdered!"

"It is not murder when one is protecting the ones they love."

"You chose an outsider over your coven! Nathaniel was one of us, yet you rejected him. A union of our families would have been a powerful alliance! Together we could have put a stop to the trials! We could have taken control of Salem, ruled over those with no magic in their blood!"

"It is not our place to rule! Our kind have been charged with preserving the old ways, and protecting nature. The Goddess and her consort created us to be the guardians, not the overseers." The others within the circle murmured their agreement.

"You think the humans will welcome your protection? Did you not see how they tore apart the village at the mere hint of witchcraft? Do you not recall your own mother swaying to the hangman's music? My brother would have saved her, if you had chosen him."

"My mother knew her fate, and faced it without fear. As did Josiah. He was one of us, even if he was not part of our coven. He was the man I loved, the man I chose, and though we did not profess it before the coven as is tradition, we bound our hearts on the Summer Solstice, in the ways of our people. A proper hand-fasting." This announcement brought murmurs of surprise from the assembled. The ritual he spoke of was binding, everlasting. Two souls connected as one.

Jeremiah snarled. "You bound yourself to that unworthy cur! He was weak and pathetic! You insulted my family with your rejection of my brother! And then you killed him!"

"He tried to kill my beloved!" Mathias shouted.

"A weed to be ripped out, to allow the plant to grow stronger!"

"Enough!" the eldest, Elijah, shouted. "You have no claim here, Black! Your brother tried to interfere with a hand-fasted bonding, and even though it was unknown, It was within Mathias' right to protect his chosen!"

"Very well, if I can not claim my revenge in this lifetime, then I shall claim it in the next! And each of you shall suffer for it! For now I place my curse! Each of you will be bound to this location, your souls never moving on to the next life until the outsider returns, and I take my vengeance on him for coming between my brother and his birthright! And you, William Mathias Dalton Anderson, you will be the instrument I use to destroy him!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, The story about the Irish priest? It's true, one of my Ancestors was an Irish priest around the early 1700's, who came to America to visit his cousin, who was a trapper who ingratiated himself with the Canadian Blackfoot tribe. The cousin introduced the priest to the tribe, and he fell in love with the chief's daughter. Needless to say, he was defrocked and excommunicated from the church. Just one of the interesting stories of my ancestors. Do you have a story like this to share? Tell me in the reviews!


	9. Family Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the centuries, many Native American tribes have called Ohio home, among them; the Chalahgawtha, the Miami people, the The Erie people, and the Shawnee. The French began exploring the region in the late 1600's, and European settlers first appeared around the same time.
> 
> The British claimed it as a territory in 1754, though it wasn't widely colonized until nearly thirty years later. In 1803, it became the 17th state of the Union.

Ohio Territory, April, 1755

Seven years passed before the full extent of Black's curse was discovered. In that time, several non magic people found their way to Dalton's home, and they had begun to build a second building, also steeped in magical protections, as well as adding on to the original building.

One cold December night, old Elijah Stone, the eldest member of the coven, passed away after a prolonged illness. As was custom, they prepared the body, and laid it on a funeral pyre. It burned well into the next night. When they awoke the next day, they were surprised to find one of the non magic residents, Henry, in Elijah's room. The young man claimed to be Elijah, and had both men's memories.

"I watched you burn my shell, but none of you could see me. And then when you all returned to the home, my spirit followed you. I felt pulled to Henry's room, and the next thing I knew I was inside his mind. He is in here as well, and while somewhat confused, seems to be accepting the fact that we now share a body."

It appeared the two souls could take turns being in control, and Elijah was content to let the young man go on with his life, staying buried in the subconscious, except when the Coven gathered to perform a rite or celebrate the seasons.

Many years had passed since then, and several members of the coven had passed on into other bodies. Now, Mathias had grown old, and knew he had little time left. He still mourned for Josiah, but knew that Black's curse would prohibit him from being reunited with the other man in the after life.

As the end of his life approached, he spent hours upon hours casting spells and performing rites, and believed he had found a way to protect Josiah's future incarnation.

"Father?" His eldest son called. Mathias smiled fondly at the man, remembering the day the other male had found his way to this refuge as a young boy. Wesley Michael Dalton, as he was now called, had been the first of his adopted children. There were eleven of them now, both witch and non witch, men and women.

"It is complete. I have done all I can do. Whether it will work I can not guarantee, but I believe it will." He cupped the younger man's cheek as he spoke.

The younger male smiled at him. "You loved him dearly, didn't you, Father?"

Mathias smiled, and glanced to the large window sill, where a warbler (a many times descendant of the one Josiah had offered to him the day his mother had died,) and it's mate lived, the nest kept protected from the elements through magic. "I knew the moment our hands touched the first time that we were destined for each other. He was the other half of my soul."

He suddenly felt so very tired. He lay down on his bed, and the younger man helped him to slip under the covers. "Rest now, Father. Before you know it, you will be reunited with him."

William Mathias Dalton died later that afternoon, peacefully in his sleep. The warbler sang for him, and watched his mate as their young began to hatch.

…

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree

…

Columbus, Ohio, November, 2010

Kurt pulled his Navigator up in front of the small cottage style house in a cozy little neighborhood of Columbus. While he and his great grandmother often talked on the phone and exchanged letters and cards, it had been nearly a year since he had seen her last. He had picked her a bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots and Blue Asters, her favorites, from the garden his mother had planted before her death.

Despite her advanced age, the woman was spry and vibrant, and hugged him tightly when she answered the door.

"You've gotten taller since I saw you last, and so handsome!" Kurt couldn't help but laugh at her statement.

"You haven't changed at all!" He teased.

She beamed at him as she closed the door. He handed her the flowers, and the smile grew wider. "Come along, dear, I've prepared tea. I know you have a lot of questions."

He followed her along to the the living room, and took a seat as she fetched a vase for the flowers. She set them on the coffee table, which was set for afternoon tea with finger sandwiches, cookies, mini cakes, and fruit. She waited until he had fixed his tea and filled a plate with snacks before she began to speak.

"First, you should know that the Hummel Line of witches goes back many centuries, all the way back to the early ninth century, although the Hummel name didn't come in until about three hundred years after that." She paused and took a sip of her tea.

"There were two sisters at that time, one of them married a powerful witch from another line, uniting their strengths and producing one of the most powerful lines in all of Europe at the time. The other married for love, a poor farmer named Hummel. Their union was a happy one, and although the farmer was not a witch, they still produced a strong line of witches. Over the generations, other magical lines married into the Hummel line, keeping the line strong, until about three hundred years ago, when for some reason no one has been able to fathom, the magic seemed to die out."

Kurt was intrigued. Josiah Hummel Whitaker had lived three hundred years ago. Had he been a witch, or was he magicless?

"Since then, the power has skipped a few generations before putting forth a true witch. My great grandmother was the last one before me, and it skipped your grandfather and father, but I knew you would inherit the line."

"How did you know?" Kurt asked, curiously.

She took another sip of tea before she answered. "I was fairly certain when I saw your eyes shortly after you were born. I could see the power in the labradorite depths. But it was when you came out that I knew for certain."

Kurt frowned in confusion. "When I came out? As being gay?"

The older woman nodded, smiling kindly at him. "I know you won't understand this, but one of my gifts is the Sight. I often know details of the future, and I knew that the next Hummel witch would be homosexual. Oh don't look so shocked. You aren't the first in our line, nor will you be the last, I am certain."

Kurt wasn't certain what to think about that. "So what exactly is a witch? And what kind of powers will I have? And does my dad know about any of this?"

"No, your father knows nothing of his heritage. It's better this way." She took a bite of a small chicken salad sandwich and thought as she chewed how best to answer his other questions. "First off, there is no devil in witchcraft. The devil is a Christian concept. The term witch is something of a misnomer. Witch usually applies to those of the Wiccan faith. All witches are pagans, but not all pagans are witches, most people just don't understand the difference. Our people believe that we were created by the Goddess and her consort to be the protectors of nature and to keep the balance of life flowing."

"Goddess?" Kurt said, skeptically. It sounded too much like god, and he wasn't a believer.

"I know," the older woman said kindly. "You find it hard to believe in any kind of deity. Many modern day pagans simply refer to Mother Nature rather than the Goddess, or like the druids of old, worship nature itself. What ever you are comfortable with, as long as you do harm to none, there are no wrong ways to practice paganism."

Kurt considered this, and thought he would research the different forms for himself before making a judgment. "Okay, so what about magic?"

She smiled and finished her tea. "There are two types of magic. Each witch is born with a gift or gifts that are unique unto themselves. As I said, my gift is the Sight. Some have the power of healing, other's have the gift of controlling animals. Most have a gift related to one of the five elements; Earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. Those whose gifts are connected to spirit are very powerful, as they have the ability to control the other four elements."

"How will I know what my gifts are?"

She beamed at him, as if he had asked the most brilliant question ever. "Come with me." She stood and lead him into a small room off the hallway that looked as if it had once been a large storage closet, but now appeared to be used as an altar space. "Normally I would cast a circle of protection, but for what we are going to do it won't be necessary. For now, I want you to kneel inside the circle of candles."

Kurt did as she instructed, feeling only slightly silly. She began by lighting the candles, filling the tiny space with the scent of bayberry, cinnamon, and something he wasn't sure of. Was that lily of the valley?

"I already know one of your gifts. You have the power of music. Your voice can call to animals and humans, and can help heal the broken hearted. But we shall see if you have any other gifts. Close your eyes and relax. Just inhale deeply, and try to empty your mind."

He did. At first it was hard to completely empty his mind of thoughts. Images of the day kept popping into his head; The slushie Rick the Stick had thrown in his face first thing that morning. The look on Karofsky's face when he had glared at Kurt in the hall. Rachel's annoying voice as she had monopolized all of Glee club.

But soon the scents were lulling him, and thoughts began to fade. The last thing that went through his mind were kind honey eyes.

"Hold out your hand, and open your eyes." Kurt obeyed.

"Power of air, I call on you, reveal thyself!" Kurt felt a breath on his palm as she leaned forward and breathed over his hand. Nothing happened.

"Power of fire, I call on you, reveal thyself!" She passed a candle over Kurt's hand. Again nothing happened.

"Power of water, I call on you, reveal thyself!" She sprinkled water over his hand, and again nothing happened.

"Power of Earth, I call on you, reveal thyself!" This time she placed a leaf on his palm. He felt something shudder through him. "Interesting. Earth power is strong. No wonder you have such inner strength. One last test."

"Power of spirit, I call on you, revel thyself!" she placed a photograph of his dad in his hand. Again a shudder went through him, though not as strong as when she had called on Earth.

"Ahh, well, this is marvelous! Thrice gifted! You are destined for great things, child!"

Kurt didn't feel very powerful. How could he when his life was constantly filled with torment and ridicule?

"You said there were two kinds of magic. What is the other kind?"

His great grandmother nodded. "Yes, the first kind is the inherent magic we are each born with. The second is the spells and rites we all learn. In the old days, we would be taught from around the age of four on how to cast a circle and perform various rites. Now, since we don't always know from one generation to the next if a child will develop magic, we wait until they awaken to their powers."

"But you said you knew I was a witch when I came out. That was over a year ago now. Why didn't you tell me about all of this then?"

She sighed. "I wanted to, but the Sight showed me I had to wait. You needed to discover it for yourself. Your destiny has already been written, at least part of it. You have a role to play in this world. What it is, I can not tell you, but I know that you will find a way to fulfill it. Until then, I will begin your training starting tomorrow, since it is Saturday, and the full moon, a sacred night for our people."

Kurt wasn't sure he liked the talk about destiny, but he was interested in learning about his abilities, or gifts as Grandma Amy called them. As they walked back to the living room, a thought crossed his mind. "Grandma, do you know anything about Josiah Hummel Whitaker?"

The woman stumbled at the name. "How do you know about him?"

"I heard the name recently, I'm not sure where. I was doing research on the Salem witch trials, and I think I read it in a diary. For some reason it stuck in my head, and I looked it up, and found a crop report dated 1691, and Josiah Hummel Whitaker was one of the farmers listed. Why? Who was he?"

The old woman sighed. "He was related to one of your ancestors, a cousin, I believe. Perhaps once or twice removed. He died in May of 1693, in Salem. The last witch hanged during the reign of terror."

…

Blaine let himself in the front door on Friday afternoon. Not bothering to announce his presence, knowing his mother wouldn't be there to greet him. He slipped off his shoes, hung up his coat and blazer, and then went to the kitchen to get something to drink. Anything to put off seeing his father. This was the first time he had returned home since receiving his mother's text the previous Friday.

He knew he should feel something, anything, but no emotion welled up within him. Had the attack last year done something to his head? Was there some kind of damage to his mind that prevented him from feeling anything?

For a moment the image of Kurt came to his mind. Hadn't he felt something when the glasz eyed boy had appeared on Tuesday? He tried to remember the sensations, but his thoughts were interrupted by a sound behind him.

"So, decided to come home after all?" His father sneered at him. "I would have thought you'd have gone crawling after your mother."

Blaine set his glass of water down on the counter and turned to look at the man who had sired him. He wanted to feel something, anything towards the older man; anger, spite, fear, pity. Anything that told him he was still alive.

"What, don't you have anything to say to your old man?" The taller Anderson male taunted.

Blaine simply shrugged and walked past him, and up the stairs to his bedroom. Why had he come here? He could have remained at Dalton for the weekend. At least there there was a sense of peace and calm that helped keep the darkness at bay.

…

Ohio Territory, April, 1755

Wesley watched the fire consume the man who had been his father ever since he came to this place as a child, following another of the former Salem coven members after the death of his parents. They had drowned when their boat overturned in a storm. He had loved them, and he knew they had loved him, but his memories of them were vague.

Mathias had been his father in every sense of the word, and he had loved him as such. He had heard the stories of Josiah, and understood his father's love for the other man. He would carry out his father's wishes, and prayed to the Goddess that the spells and incantations his father had performed would work.

He stroked the head of the warbler seated in the palm of his hand, smiling sadly as it sang one last song for the man who had cared for it and its ancestors for over fifty years. As the fire burned down to ashes, and the embers died out, the tiny yellow bird finished its song, and flew off to join its mate.


	10. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Westerville, Ohio was incorporated in 1858, and is named after Matthew, Peter, and William Westervelt, who donated land for the first Methodist Church to be built in the area. It is home to Otterbein University, and once was known as the 'dry capital of the world' due to it's strict laws on alcohol sales.
> 
> Many of the historic homes in the area were stops on the underground railroad, and are listed on the national historic register.

Ohio Territory, April, 1755

It had been just over a week since his father's death, and he knew the inevitable questions were coming. He had thought someone would have asked before now. He had his answers prepared. He had promised his father he wouldn't tell a single person the truth until the time came.

He was working in the garden when Jackson found him. Wesley wasn't surprised it was him that would be the first to approach. Jackson was highly intelligent, and one of the more powerful coven members. He had only transitioned into his new body a few months past, so the thought would be fresh in his mind.

"Something isn't right," was his best friend's greeting.

"What do you mean?" Wesley asked, feigning confusion as he continued to work the garden. Like his father's beloved, Wesley had the gift of growing things, and dominion over most things related to Earth powers. He also had the gift of being able to leave his body and explore the world through other people's eyes, taking over their bodies for a moment or two at a time.

Jackson studied him for a moment. "You know it has been a week. None of the others took this long to transition after passing. The longest was Linis, after she was killed in that rock slide while traveling to New York for supplies with her husband. She took five days to reawaken, her soul having to journey far to reach us. Your father passed on here. He should have transitioned by now."

Wesley merely shrugged. "Perhaps it is an aspect of Black's curse that we aren't aware of. Perhaps he has transitioned, but does not remember. Black said he would use my father to seek revenge when the beloved returns. What if the curse means that when his beloved is reborn, he will remember father, but father will have no memory of him, and will turn his back on his soulmate?"

"You sound like you've given this much consideration," his best friend said.

"Father and I discussed it many times over the years. He didn't want the rest of the coven to worry about it."

Jackson nodded. "If he has transitioned and is unable to inform us, we will need to choose a new coven leader soon. The full moon is just over a week from now."

Wesley finished his task of weeding, and stood. "I was planning on speaking to the coven tonight at dinner. We can call for the vote then."

"You won't need a vote, the others will look to you to lead until Mathias' return."

"I thank you for your confidence, but custom must be upheld. The vote will be cast tonight."

As they walked back to the main building, Wesley paused by the nest in the window sill to offer the warblers a few small worms he had dug up. He smiled as he watched the family of birds, lightly stroking the male's plumage as he studied the baby birds.

The vote took place after dinner, and the outcome was unanimous.

…

Where a dead man called out  
For his love to flee

…

Westerville, Ohio, November, 2010

He had had many names over the past two hundred and fifty years, worn many different faces, but he thought this host was his favorite to date. Not only did he once again have his own name, but his host was intelligent, kind, and had his own gifts, coming from a line of witches that traced it's heritage back millennia. Usually they transitioned into non magic hosts, but occasionally one of them found themselves awakening in a body accustomed to magic.

He had known Wes Montgomery before his previous host had died in that car accident two years ago. He had met the boy many times at Dalton, and while the boy hadn't officially been a member of the coven then, he had been welcomed among them and participated in some of their rituals. He had not known of the curse until the day they had merged, however, and it had been a bit of a shock to the boy to wake up one day with another sharing his mind and body.

Once he had understood the circumstances though, the younger Wesley had been quite willing to share his form with him, and had even provided some useful assistance in their quest. It had been Wes who had located the crystal that had allowed him to focus his abilities better, giving him the opportunity to observe the beloved over the last two years as they waited for him to mature and find his way to Dalton.

It had been hard for him to watch the struggles the boy had each day. He had observed the bullying, had known when the boy had contemplated taking his own life. Had seen him find friends in the Glee club at his school. He had seen the strength in the boy, and watched him grow more confident, saw him bloom into the strong young man he was, despite the way he was still treated. He understood why his father, Mathias, had loved him.

Now that he had awakened to his powers, he saw the boy practicing with his grandmother, saw the new confidence grow even stronger, until the day the large jock threatened to kill him. Both he and his host had wanted to rush to the boy to help him out, but they couldn't interfere.

They could see the boy was living in terror, but he refused to let it show. They were happy when the boy's father announced he was remarrying. Kurt had been so happy at this news. And even better, his father learned about the bullying, and had taken action to put an end to it. Kurt seemed to blossom again over night. And his heart had nearly burst with joy when Finn, his new stepbrother had sang and danced with him at the wedding. Wesley and Wes were both happy for the boy.

But now Kurt was upset again. The boy who had tormented and terrified him would be returning to the school.

It was time to prepare. Kurt Hummel was coming home.

…

Kurt felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he stepped into the main building of Dalton on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. The last three weeks had rushed by in a blur, it seemed. His emotions had been on a roller coaster ride, and he was ready to get off.

Wes and David were there to greet him and his dad, smiling in welcome. "It's good to see you again, Kurt." Wes shook the elder Hummel's hand. "Mr. Hummel, it's a pleasure to meet you. If you'll follow us, we'll show you to your dorm room."

"Because it is so late in the semester, there was only one dorm room left," David informed them as they headed down the portrait hall on the first floor. "It is actually the only dorm in the original portion of the building."

Kurt wasn't sure what to expect when they entered the room, but was breathless with awe as he entered the room. It was as if who ever had designed the room knew him intimately. The furniture were antiques, in the style known as bombe, all done in a dark cherry finish. The carpet on the floor was handcrafted. There was a rocking chair in the corner near the window, and an antique writing desk along one wall. The bed was four poster, and draped in blue and green silks. He felt like this was meant to be his home.

"This was Mathias Dalton's room," Wes said, watching Kurt's reaction. "Only a handful of people have been allowed to stay here."

"It's amazing!" Kurt whispered.

David smiled indulgently at him. "We'll leave you to unpack and get settled. Lunch will be served in just over an hour. Oh, and we have Warbler's practice at four-thirty. I hope you are considering coming and auditioning."

Kurt was surprised by this. Sectional were next Saturday. Very few groups would allow someone to join so late in the game. "Thank you, I'd like that, actually."

After the other two boys had left, Burt helped him bring in the rest of his stuff. He had packed lightly, knowing he would be wearing a uniform most of the time. He figured he could bring more of his stuff on Friday if he needed to. "Well, kiddo, looks like you are all set. I won't say I hope you are happy here, cause judging by this room alone, you will be. I'll see you on Thursday. Remember, I love you, and I'm always just a phone call away if you need anything or just want to talk."

They hugged, and Kurt smiled. "I love you too, Dad. You take care of yourself! Listen to Carole and be good with your diet! No cheating just because I'm not there!"

They laughed, and Kurt walked Burt out, then headed to the dining hall. He found Wes and David sitting with a few other boys. They invited him to join them, and introduced the other boys as Thad, Nick, Jeff, Trent, and Jon, AKA Beatz.

"So, where is Blaine?" Kurt asked. He hadn't seen the boy in over week, Kurt had been busy with the wedding arrangements and hadn't been able to meet the other boy for their usual Wednesday coffee date.

"He'll be back this afternoon for practice. He spent the weekend with his mother." Thad explained. Kurt just nodded. He had learned about Blaine's parents' split during their first lunch together that day they had confronted Karofsky.

They talked about music and classes as they ate lunch, and then Kurt returned to his room to prepare for his audition that afternoon.

When the time came to join the Warbler's in their commons, he paused outside that carved doorway, studying the meticulous carving. Before, he hadn't noticed the intricate design, and now was awed by the craftsmanship. He found himself reluctant to step forward at first, recalling the sensation he had felt the first time he had passed through these doors.

As he reached for the doors, they opened inward, and there stood Blaine. The shorter boy smiled when he saw him, but Kurt noticed the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Kurt, welcome to Dalton! I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier when you arrived, I just got back a short while ago."

Kurt smiled in return. "It's okay, Wes and David helped me get settled in, and introduced me to a few of the other guys."

"That's good. Are you here to audition?"

"Yes, actually."

"Great, come in. We'll be ready in just a moment. Do you have a song ready?"

"Yes, and I admit I'm a bit nervous, it's something I've only recently added to my repertoire, but it just seemed to feel right for this."

Blaine smiled at him, and this time it almost reached his eyes. "Well, I'm sure it will be amazing."

Just then Wes called the meeting order. "Okay, everyone, settle down. Our first order of business is the audition of Kurt Hummel. Kurt? Are you ready?"

"Yes, thank you." He stood in front of the desk where Wes, David and Thad sat, and took a deep breath. "Normally I have musical accompaniment, but I decided to sing a capella, since that is what you all do."

Thad smiled at him. "When ever you are ready, then."

Kurt took another deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to sing.

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
They strung up a man  
They say who murdered three  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

Kurt hadn't understood why the song resonated with him the first time he had heard it a few months ago, but it had stuck with him, and now he was glad he had chosen to perform it today.

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where dead man called out  
For his love to flee  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where I told you to run  
So we'd both be free  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Wear a necklace of hope  
Side by side with me  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where I told you to run  
So we'd both be free  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where they strung up a man  
They say who murdered three  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

Are you, are you  
Coming to the tree  
Where dead man called out  
For his love to flee  
Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met at midnight  
In the hanging tree

Are you, are you,

Coming to the tree

There was a moment of reverent silence as he finished, followed by cheers and applause. The vote was unanimous, Kurt Hummel was a Warbler. Blaine had left the room briefly, and returned with a cage.

"It is tradition for new Warblers to be presented with a warbler of their own. This is Pavarotti, the latest in a long line of warblers that represent the spirit of Dalton. It will be your responsibility to care for him."

Kurt accepted the cage with a smile, looking at the beautiful bird within. Something about the tiny creature pulled at his memories, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

…

Later that night, Kurt lay in bed, his mind whirling, thoughts flitting in and out of his mind randomly;

What was wrong with Blaine? There just seemed like something was off with the boy.

Why did Mathias' room feel like it had been meant for him?

Why wouldn't that song stop playing in his mind now?

And why did this place feel like it was filled with magic?

Exhaustion pulled at him, and he finally fell asleep.

He woke slowly not much later, suddenly feeling he wasn't alone. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, a hand covered his mouth, and a familiar voice whispered in his ear.

"Do not scream, do not speak. No harm will befall you. Nod your head if you understand." Kurt nodded, even though his heart was racing. "Good. I will remove my hand. You will get up and put on this robe. You will not speak at all."

Kurt did as instructed, silently pulling on the hooded cloak. His midnight visitor spoke again. "Good. Now keep your eyes downcast, your hood over your head, do not look around you. You will be guided to a certain location. Only once we are there will you be allowed to look up. Nod if you understand."

Kurt nodded again, and felt someone else move up behind him, placing hands on his shoulders and guiding him out of the dorm room. The urge to look around was strong, but he kept his eyes on the floor beneath his feet. He was lead out a back door of the building, and barefoot, marched across a stretch of grass and into a wooded area. He knew he should be afraid, but for some reason he was calm. There was a knowing inside him, a sense of rightness to this.

"Stop, remain there, eyes down until instructed otherwise." He heard people moving past him, the sound of a match being struck, and the scent of smoke filled the air. "Kurt Hummel, remove your hood and look up."

Kurt allowed the hood to fall back, and he looked up at the figures standing in front of him, their faces hidden by hooded cloaks. They were in a clearing with a rather large tree stump at its center. A fire burned in a stone bowl placed on the stump. As he glanced down once more, he saw the incomplete circle cut into the ground. He knew it had been made by a ceremonial dagger. There was an opening directly in front of him.

"Kurt Hummel, do you enter this circle of protection of your own free will?"

A few weeks ago, Kurt might have scoffed at the dramatics, but since he had begun studying witchcraft with Grandma Amy, he knew how serious this situation was. He straightened his shoulders. "I do."

"Then step forward and join the coven in this sacred space."

Kurt stepped through the opening in the circle, feeling the rush of power filling him. Wes stepped forward and closed the circle behind him. The others moved to surround him until he was at the center of a second circle of cloaked individuals, standing shoulder to shoulder, leaving no room for escape. Wes stood directly in front of him, still holding the dagger.

"A coven must trust in one another, to stand united, and guide each other. Do you trust us, Kurt Hummel?" He had no reason to trust them. He hardly knew these people, but still that sense of rightness filled him.

"I do." Hands reached out from behind him and spun him around, pushing him from one person to another at dizzying speed, until everything was a blur. He knew that somewhere in this circle was that dagger, and at any moment it could be plunged into him, but he was not afraid. He did not shout or cry out, no matter how light headed he felt.

Suddenly the hands slowed and steadied him. When the rushing in his head ended and his vision cleared, he found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with the others in the circle.

"Welcome to the Dalton coven, Kurt Hummel. Look upon your fellow coven mates, and rejoice in your heritage." The others removed their hoods one by one. He recognized them all from Warbler practice that afternoon, though noted that not all of the Warblers were here. Blaine was not among them, nor were a few of the younger Warblers. The last figure removed their hood, and Kurt gasped in shock.

"Grandma Amy?"

She smiled serenely at him. "Welcome home, Kurt."


	11. A Change of Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dalton Academy was established in 1858, the same year that the city of Westerville was incorporated. Originally, it was a public school, open to both boys and girls, but in 1861, a second property was purchased by the Warbler Foundation, and Crawford Country Day was built. Dalton became a private school for boys, while CCD accepted young women. This was due to the fact that during the Civil War, parts of Dalton were used as barracks for the union army.

Westerville, Ohio, July, 2008

Charles Henry had long ago become accustomed to sharing his body with the one who called himself Wesley Dalton. He had also become accustomed to the magic the other possessed.

What he wasn't accustomed to was the worry in the other being. He could feel the concern emanating from him. He didn't know why, though. Wesley was usually very good at communicating with him, explaining what he was doing, but today he seemed rather distracted, and that had Charlie distracted worrying about the other.

They had been observing the elder Anderson today. The man hadn't seemed any different to Charlie than he had any other time they had observed him, but for some reason, Wesley had been upset by his appearance.

And then they had observed the younger boy, and Wesley had really gotten upset. Charlie had tried to ask what was going on, and Wesley had said something about dark magic, and needed to get back to Dalton to speak to Jackson. Charlie knew that Jackson was the name of the soul that currently resided in a boy named David.

Wesley also wanted to speak to the Crone. Charlie liked the older woman who acted as a mentor to the members of Dalton's coven. She knew about the curses, but only in generalities. They could not tell her all the details, due to the nature of the curses, but Charlie (and Wesley) suspected she knew more than she let on.

The urgency he felt from Wesley had him worried, and he didn't notice the other car run the red light until it was too late. Pain lanced through him as the car was slammed first by the reckless driver, and thrown into the path of a semi that did not have the time to stop before crashing into him as well. He heard Wesley whispering that he was so sorry, and then everything faded to black. Charles Joseph Henry died instantly.

…

Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be

…

Westerville, Ohio, November, 2010

Trent watched as Kurt spoke to Wes and David, and the Crone, studying the young man who held their fates in his hand. He had heard the stories of Josiah Whitaker first hand from Mathias himself, of course, they all had. He had known the boy in Salem, as well. The boy had been an outsider, not a member of their coven, although Trent, Sarah Good, Amerynth Anderson, and a few other members petitioned for him to be invited to join. The Blacks and a few other powerful members, however refused, because the boy was untrained and hadn't shown any signs of magic.

Nick and Jeff moved to his side, also studying the young man. "What do you think?" Nick asked.

"I think he is much stronger than we thought," Trent replied. "Don't you feel the power emanating from him?"

"No, empathy is your gift, not mine," Jeff said. "But his aura is strong. He radiates blues and greens, but closer to his skin, to his heart, is vibrant red. I think he may be even more powerful than Mathias was, and Mathias was the most powerful witch I have ever known."

Nick just shrugged, as his gifts lay elsewhere, and could not see or feel anything from the boy. "I hope you are both right, and I hope he figures out how to break the curse soon. I don't know about either of you, but I am ready to pass on to the next world. Constantly returning to the body of a teenager lost it's appeal long ago."

"Well, at least you always return to a body that suits you, Elijah, and you, too, Lewis. I for one look forward to never waking up as a male again." Trent frowned.

Jeff laughed and kissed his cheek. "You know we love you, no matter what form you take, Linis. And at least this host is attracted to men as well." Trent blushed.

…

Blaine woke up from the nightmare, shaking. As usual he had no memory of what he had dreamed of, but could only think it had to do with the attack. What else could possibly affect him so?

With a sigh, he got out of bed and got ready for school. It wasn't until he reached the dining hall that he remembered, Kurt would be there. Kurt was at Dalton. Kurt, who made him almost remember what emotions felt like. His breath hitched as he saw the glasz eyed boy sitting with Nick, Jeff, and Trent. They all seemed to be very tired, but in high spirits. He got his food and joined them, dapper persona firmly in place today.

"Hi!" Kurt greeted him with a brilliant smile. He smiled back, and for the first time in a long while, he thought the smile might have even reached his eyes.

"Good morning! I hope you slept well. I know some people have trouble sleeping in a strange bed."

Kurt laughed. "Yeah, actually, I was a bit excited, so it took me a while to fall asleep, but I love my room! It felt like who ever built it and decorated it knew they were creating it just for me."

"Wow," Blaine said, smiling. "Which dorm are you in?"

"The one down the hall from the Warblers' Commons."

"Dalton's room?" Blaine said, confused. No one ever stayed in there. He himself had never even seen the room before.

"Yeah. Wes said it was the only room available so late in the semester." Well, that made sense, but it still seemed strange to Blaine.

They finished eating, and Blaine asked what Kurt's first class was.

"I have French first, with Mademoiselle Charney, in Good Hall."

"Do you need someone to show you where it is?"

"I'd like that. I have a map, but it is a bit confusing."

Blaine smiled, and lead him out of the main building. "Good Hall is the farthest building from here. It houses the language departments, as well as the art and music departments."

"Why is it called Good Hall?"

Blaine laughed. "I'm not exactly sure, but from what I've heard it was named after one of the women who was hanged for witchcraft during the Salem witch trials."

Kurt seemed really intrigued by this. "Really? I did a report on the trials just a few weeks ago at McKinley. But why would they name a building after her here?"

"Well, apparently after the trials ended, several people from that area moved here, seeking a more peaceful existence. There were even rumors of a coven of witches here at Dalton, but I haven't found any evidence of that."

Kurt giggled nervously at that. "Really? Fascinating."

They were passing the first building now. "This is Whitaker Hall," Blaine informed him, "which houses the math and science classes."

Kurt shuddered at the name, swallowing hard. Blaine didn't understand why. "Is something wrong?"

Kurt shook himself, and looked back at Blaine. "Sorry, no. Just got a strange chill all of a sudden. So, uh, why do they call it Whitaker Hall?"

Blaine shrugged. "Again, all I know is what I've heard, but they say the building is named after Mathias Dalton's first and only love, who was murdered. And Amerynth Hall, over there, is named after his mother, who was also killed. The poor guy was apparently shrouded in mystery and tragedy. I think that is one reason he built this place. I think he was lonely."

Blaine didn't understand why the older boy looked like he was about to cry. Kurt smiled weakly at him. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm being all weepy all of a sudden. It just sounds like such a sad story."

Blaine smiled in return. "I guess it is. The other buildings on the property do have much happier histories. Rose Hall was named after the daughter of W.M. Dalton, upon her wedding day, and Davis Hall is named after one of Dalton's more famous alumni, who won the Silver Cross in WWI for saving his entire platoon. Soldier Hall is called that because that was where most of the Civil war soldiers were housed back when Dalton was a barracks during the war."

"So, are there any of Dalton's descendants still here?" Kurt asked.

Blaine laughed. "You know, I don't have a clue."

They reached Good Hall, and Blaine showed Kurt to his classroom. The pale boy turned and smiled at him. "You know, I've known you a few weeks now, and I just realized I don't even know your last name."

"Oh! My name is Anderson. Blaine Anderson."

Kurt frowned. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"I have no idea, but I still don't know your last name, either."

Kurt smiled back again. "Kurt Hummel."

They shook hands as if they had only just met, and once again Blaine felt that shiver of awareness crawl up his arm.

…

The next few days went by far too quickly for Blaine, and soon it was Wednesday afternoon, and he was heading to his mother's home for Thanksgiving. He hated leaving Dalton, hated losing that sense of peace and contentment he always felt within it's walls, even more so now that Kurt was there. He still didn't understand what it was about the boy, but every time he was near, he could feel the echoes of emotions he hadn't felt in nearly two years.

Thanksgiving day seemed to drag out endlessly, and the Friday after wasn't much better, but at last he was back at Dalton, and they were preparing to leave for Sectionals Saturday morning.

This time as he left Dalton, it didn't feel as bleak, as Kurt was there with him. And as he was on stage, singing, he actually felt the music filling him up again, wrapping around him and reminding him of what it felt like to be happy. The feeling even lasted through the announcement of tying with New Directions.

He could tell Kurt was excited by the announcement. The pale boy hadn't wanted to lose, but hadn't wanted his friends to lose either.

Time seemed to move faster now with Kurt there. Blaine knew it was just the shorter days that gave him this feeling as fall slipped away, and winter drew nearer. He was afraid that when school lets out for the holidays, time would crawl again, and the two and a half weeks would feel like an eternity. He wasn't certain his sanity could hold out that long. He'd accepted a singing gig at King's Island over the break, hoping the music would give him something to cling to.

The evening before the final day of school before the break, he found Kurt studying in one of the commons on the second floor of the main building. He suddenly had the urge to sing with the pale boy, and asked Kurt to rehearse with him. The boy smiled and accepted.

They sang Baby, It's Cold Outside, flitting around the room, and Blaine could almost feel the joy rising inside him, but as the song ended, and Kurt looked at him with that longing look, something seemed to choke off his feelings again. He made some excuse, and slipped away.

What is wrong with him? Why can't he really feel anything? Did the attack leave him soulless? Did it damage the portion of his mind where emotions were processed?

…

Kurt watched Blaine walk away, sighing to himself. For the tiniest moment there, he thought the darker boy might actually be about to kiss him. But then that darkness he occasionally saw in the other boy's eyes flitted through those hazel orbs once again.

He really should talk to Wes or one of the coven members, or even his grandmother, for that matter, about what he suspected, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to talk to them about it. He was beginning to think the other boy might be under the influence of some kind of magic. He felt very protective of the younger boy, but didn't know what to do. It felt too..intimate to talk to the others about what he suspected.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost eight at night. He was supposed to meet the others in the clearing soon for their winter solstice celebration. He really wasn't in the mood, and wished Blaine could be there as well, but it was Kurt's first major holiday with the coven, and felt he should go.

…

Blaine had been half right in his estimation. The music had helped him stay sane during the holiday break. But time still seemed to creep along. When he finally returned to Dalton in early January, he thought he had forgotten how to breathe. He didn't take a full breath until he saw Kurt at breakfast. And that terrified him. What was it about this boy that Blaine felt like he needed him to merely exist?


	12. Enspelled

Westerville, Ohio, July 2008

Wesley called an emergency coven meeting the moment he transitioned into the body of Wes Montgomery. The boy was confused, naturally, but sensed the urgency in the much older entity currently sharing his form. "It is as I feared, the curse has accelerated in the heir. I could sense the influence of dark magic."

He glanced at Jon, the tall beat boxer of their group. "Isabella, I need you to use your gifts and create the strongest protection spell you can. Stronger even than you used in WWI. We'll work on finding a way to draw him here to Dalton in the mean time."

The others all nodded at him grimly. They understood how important it was to protect the boy.

…

If we met at Midnight

in the hanging tree

...

Westerville, Ohio, February 2011

Blaine thought for sure he was slowly going insane. Ever since he had returned from the holiday break, it seemed as if Kurt Hummel was all he could think about. Why was it that the only time he ever felt anything remotely close to an emotion was when the countertenor was there with him? And not just good emotions, either.

Yes, there was the echo of happiness, but there was also something dark that seemed to crop up at the drop of a hat as well. They had been in Warbler's rehearsals the other day, and out of the blue, Blaine had felt anger welling up inside him as he saw Jon whisper something to Kurt that had the pale boy blushing and laughing. The anger had receded a moment later when Kurt glanced over at him, and smiled shyly.

He wanted to feel something, not just an echo or memory of emotion. He wanted to feel something for Kurt, even just friendship, but he had forgotten what that felt like. He was just going through the motions.

Normally, he preferred to stay at Dalton, where he at least had those echos and memories to hold onto, but today he had gone to the coffee shop near the mall again, just to try and find something other than Kurt and Dalton that helped him remember, but it hadn't worked. He sat there staring into his coffee cup, and felt absolutely nothing.

In a last ditch effort, he thought about that night a year and a half ago, the night he rarely allowed himself to think about. He didn't remember the actual attack. He did remember going to the Sadie Hawkins dance with Howard and a few of their other friends. It wasn't a date. Howard had a boyfriend, the same boy who had taken him skating that summer, who unfortunately hadn't been able to attend the dance because he was out of town at a funeral. They had had fun, laughing, dancing as a group, and talking about their plans for the future.

Even then, though, he hadn't actually felt anything, although the memories of the emotions had been much stronger, much clearer in his mind, and it had been so easy then to put on the act. He remembered that after the dance was over, he and Howard had been standing in the parking lot, talking, waiting for Howard's dad to pick him up. They had at least three feet between them. They hadn't been touching or being overly friendly. He couldn't quite remember what they had been talking about, but he thought it might have had something to do with the mural Howard was painting at a local park.

He remembered a flash of light, and for a split second thought it was lightening, until Howard had fallen forward into his arms. That was the last thing he remembered before waking up in the hospital with bandages covering his head and hands.

…

He watched the heir from the corner, frowning. So this is what the great and powerful William Anderson had been reduced to? It was almost pathetic. Yet the boy still hadn't fully succumbed to the curse, still clinging to that fragile sliver of hope. Perhaps all he needed was a little nudge to send him falling into the darkness.

…

"Mind if I sit here?" Blaine was startled from his thoughts by the voice. He looked up at a handsome man with dark blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. His blue eyes hinted at a touch of mystery. Blaine found himself agreeing before he even thought about it.

The man sat down across from him and set a fresh cup of coffee before Blaine, as he took a sip from his own cup. "You looked like you needed that."

Blaine gave him a weak smile and shrugged. "Thanks." He took a sip of the fresh cup of coffee, wincing at the bitter after taste. It was much stronger than what he usually ordered, and didn't have his usual dash of cinnamon. Still, it did seem to warm him, and he began to relax a little.

The other man smiled at him. "So, what had you so deep in thought, it took me three tries to get your attention?"

Blaine couldn't tell him about being cut off from his emotions, so instead gave a half truth. "Sorry. I suffered a concussion more than a year ago, and ever since my mind just drifts off now and then."

"I'm sorry to hear that. How did it happen?" the stranger asked, sounding sympathetic, although there seemed to be something off in his eyes, something calculating. Blaine blinked, shaking off the sensation, and took another drink of his coffee.

He told the older boy about the attack as he finished his drink. By now a warmth filled him, and he smiled at the man seated across from him. His mind seemed to drift again as the man spoke to him. And then he noticed it was getting dark out.

"I have to get back before dinner," he said, standing.

The other man smiled. "Could we possibly meet again on Monday? Same place, same time?"

Blaine nodded. "I'd like that. By the way, you never told me your name."

The blonde smiled at him, extending his hand for Blaine to shake. "I'm Jeremiah."

…

Kurt couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something different about Blaine that afternoon. It was a week before Valentines Day, and he was sitting in Warbler practice, studying the darker boy. He had felt a connection with Blaine since the moment they had met, despite the other boy's distraction. But the last couple of days, Blaine just seemed...more full of life. Almost happier than Kurt had ever seen him. But at the same time, Kurt sensed that darkness inside the other boy had grown, which didn't make any sense at all.

…

Kurt wasn't the only one to notice Blaine's behavior. Jeff frowned as he leaned over the counsel's table and whispered with Wes and David. "His aura has gone almost completely grey. I don't like this at all. Can't we do something?"

Wes shook his head. "We cast that protection spell on him a year and a half ago when he first got here, and it was the strongest one I know of, but this dark magic is stronger. It appears Black has made his move. We just need to flush him out of hiding."

…

As it happened, it wasn't as hard to flush Black out as they thought. The very next day, Blaine had called an emergency Warbler's meeting, and had announced that he was in love. Many of the coven members covertly glanced over at Kurt, wondering if the boy had some how managed to break the spell, but he seemed just as shocked as they were.

And then Blaine dropped the other shoe. "He's a junior manager at the GAP."

Kurt seemed crushed by this news, but he hid it well. Only Trent and Jeff picked up on it, though Wes and David seemed to be aware of it as well.

After the meeting adjourned, Kurt was the first to leave, as the coven members lingered until Blaine and the younger Warblers who weren't aware of the witches among them had exited as well. Wes kept his voice low as he spoke to the coven.

"This is how Black intends to use Blaine against the beloved. He'll try to crush Kurt's spirit, but we will be prepared. My father left me instructions on how to defeat this part of Black's curse."

He gave each of them instructions. They would have to time this perfectly, while pretending to be ignorant of what was happening. And they would have to make sure Kurt and Blaine didn't discover the truth.

…

As the song came to an end, Kurt couldn't stand it any more, and walked out, refusing to cry. He forced himself to think of other things, like the full moon celebration last weekend, or the ritual he and Grandma Amy had performed to help strengthen Burt's heart. But his mind kept turning back to Blaine.

He had finally figured out why the name Anderson had sounded familiar. Nathaniel Anderson had been the magistrate mentioned in the diary he had used as the basis of his Salem report back in October. But he couldn't help but feel that he knew the name from somewhere else, and that it should be important to him.

His mind wandered to the dream he'd had the night before. He had placed a moonstone under his pillow before bed. It was supposed to bring you good dreams, and help you remember them clearer in the morning. In the dream, he had been kissing a boy, whose face he couldn't see. They were laying on pine boughs, and there was a large granite slab near them, upon which a stone bowl sat, fire burning inside it. It reminded him of the large stone bowl the coven used in their ceremonies, but instead of a granite slab, theirs sat on a large tree stump.

His dream had been interrupted by Pavarotti, singing a happy song. Kurt had woken up smiling. He loved that bird. The songs he sang always made Kurt feel better, and Kurt often found himself whistling along with him.

His reverie was broken as Blaine came out to check on him. "Kurt, are you okay? You left so quickly."

"I'm fine," he replied, keeping his voice even. "I just needed some air."

…

Back inside the store, Wes nodded at Jon. The other boys distracted the few other customers in the store, while the tall beat boxer moved up behind Jeremiah. He dropped the twisted piece of rope over the witch's head, and the older male froze in his tracks. Wes stepped out in front of him.

"Jeremiah Black, I bind your magic. The necklace around your neck is from the hanging rope of Josiah Whitaker, who you and your kin wronged. You will never be able to remove it. It is a symbol of your crime. Go forth and do no more harm!"

The blonde male laughed. "Well well, Wesley Dalton. I must say I am impressed. I never thought you had it in you. But binding me won't break the curse. There is another Black Descendant. They will succeed were I have failed."

Wesley just smirked, and leaned forward, whispering in the man's ear. When he pulled back, Jeremiah snarled at him. "You lie!"

Wesley just smiled and turned his back, the other Warbler's falling in line behind him. Jeremiah watched them go, fury on his face. So the Dalton Coven thought they could circumvent the curse? Well, he'd just have to make sure they didn't.

…

Just a little over a week after the GAP Fiasco, Kurt found himself sitting in Rachel Berry's basement, watching Blaine drink. He was growing more concerned for the boy by the day. Ever since Jeremiah disappeared, the darkness inside the other boy had been constant, and Kurt could feel him slipping further and further away.

He wanted to talk to Wes and the coven about it, but something kept holding him back. He was so new to magic, what if what he was sensing was nothing but his imagination? What if the others laughed at him for being such a newbie witch, and Blaine was perfectly fine?

He was so confused by his reactions to the younger man. One small part of him seemed to be shouting that this man was his destiny, that they were meant to be together, but at the same time, another part of him was crying out that this was just the shell of the man, and that something was missing. And yet another part of him felt like the pieces of the puzzle were all there, if he could just shuffle them around, he'd solve the mystery.

…

Blaine knew drinking wasn't a good idea. It wouldn't bring back his emotions. Nothing would. He still didn't understand what had happened with Jeremiah. Had he been so desperate to feel anything that he had convinced himself that it was love?

He drank some more, the alcohol numbing him. He still couldn't feel anything, but now he didn't even have to think about it.

"Let's play spin the bottle!" Rachel shouted. He stumbled into the ring of bodies on the floor, smilingly goofily at Kurt, who was frowning for some reason. At first Blaine really didn't pay much attention to who kissed who. But then the bottle landed on him, and there were cat calls and laughter.

"Blaine Warbler," Rachel said, leaning towards him. "I'm going to rock your world!"

Blaine just shrugged, leaning into the kiss. He knew it would mean nothing. He wouldn't feel anything. And that was how Blaine Anderson fell into the trap of the last Black descendant, who didn't even know she was a witch.


	13. Of Curses and Crushes

Are you,

…

Lima, Ohio, February, 2011

Wes lay uncomfortably on the ground, peering through a basement window, swearing in six different languages, only two of which he understood. Two hours ago he had been engrossed in the book he needed to finish reading for his English assignment when his phone had rang. He had answered it absently without checking the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Wesley?"

At first the voice didn't register, and when it did, he wasn't certain if the caller was speaking to him, or to the one who shared his body. They'd never called him Wesley before. "Amy?"

"Wesley, my grandson is in danger! There is a cuckoo in the nest! She's the trap, Wesley! Do you understand me? She doesn't know who she is, but she will be the undoing of everything you've worked for!"

For a moment Wes was silent, contemplating her words. "Amy, how long have you known about this?"

"I just figured it out. I knew about the curses, of course, but I did not know about my grandson's involvement until the visions came to me this evening. Now Kurt is in danger, and he will need your guidance. But first you must go and find out who this cuckoo is and how she will hurt him."

And now here he was, laying on the cold, damp grass, peeking in windows like a peeping Tom, watching the curse unfold.

…

Kurt didn't know why it felt like his heart was being crushed as he watched the boy he had been crushing on for the last several months kissing one of his supposed best friends. It was just a silly game, after all. It didn't mean anything.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that his whole world, his entire reason for existing was crumbling to dust.

He still felt that way the next afternoon as he and Blaine went for coffee at the Lima Bean. He attempted to laugh it off, teasing Blaine, but then Rachel called, and his world came crashing down around him.

…

Wesley watched the argument from the corner, frowning. He had failed his father. He had promised him that he would protect his beloved, but he saw the boy's spirit falling with each heated word exchanged. He only hoped he could fix this in time.

He watched Blaine storm off, and dialed his cell phone. As he waited for it to be answered, he had to marvel at the advancements made in the past three hundred years. Things that would have brought the cry of witchcraft in his day were now easily accepted as normal, and most people wouldn't understand true magic if it happened before their eyes.

David answered on the third ring. "Jackson, it is as we feared. How long will it take for you to create the potion?"

The man who had been his best friend for three centuries sighed. "I have everything ready, but I must wait until the quarter moon in two nights to harvest the final ingredient. Isabella has created a charm to help protect the beloved until then. He's on his way there now. Amy thinks you should explain at least part of the curse to Kurt in the meantime. Not everything, of course, but enough for him to know what he needs to do."

Wes agreed, and hung up the phone, taking his cup of coffee and moving to sit beside Kurt. "I saw what happened."

…

Kurt just looked at the Asian Warbler, tears streaming down his face. He shook his head.

"That isn't Blaine," he whispered. "I should have said something to you sooner, but I was afraid you'd think I was crazy. But something is terribly wrong with Blaine."

"I know," the older boy said, placing a hand on Kurt's. "Blaine has fallen under a curse. We have been watching him for a while, unable to intervene until now. We need your help to break the curse and save him."

"Me? How can I help?"

Wesley sighed. "Your friend, Rachel, she was adopted, wasn't she?"

Confused at this change of topic, Kurt simply nodded.

"Do you know what the term cuckoo in the nest means?"

Frowning even deeper, Kurt nodded again. "The cuckoo bird lays its eggs in another bird's nest, and the offspring are raised by unsuspecting parents."

"That's right. Rachel may not even be aware of this, but she is the cuckoo in the nest. She is the last descendant of Jeremiah Black, who placed a curse on the reincarnation of a man he believed wronged him and his family three hundred years ago. Blaine is the reincarnation of that man."

"Jeremiah? Like the GAP guy?"

Wes smiled. "Exactly. That Jeremiah was also a descendant of Black. We were able to prevent him from triggering the curse, but we had no idea there was another descendant."

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

Wes hesitated. Kurt could see the boy was struggling internally about what to tell him. Finally the other boy sighed.

"Because you are part of the curse."

"What?"

Wes drew a deep breath. "I can't go into specific details, because there are rules about curses. But I can tell you that before the curse was placed, Jeremiah Black's younger brother wanted Blaine's previous incarnation as his hand-fasted mate. But Blaine was in love with someone else. There was a confrontation, and the younger Black brother died. Jeremiah cursed Blaine, dooming him to destroy the one he falls in love with. Which would be you."

Kurt shook his head. "Blaine doesn't love me. We're just friends. Sometimes I get the sense that he is incapable of feeling emotions. There is such a darkness around him."

Wes nodded. "That is part of the curse. And now that it has been triggered, Blaine will be forced to hurt you over and over until your soul is crushed. But we can stop it before that happens. Jon should be here any moment with a charm that you must keep on your person at all times."

As if on cue, the tall beat boxer arrived at that moment. Wes waved him over. "Wear this charm, and keep your bracelet of stones with you, even when you sleep. David is working on a potion that will break Rachel's hold over Blaine, but it will be a few days before it is ready. If it works, she won't even know what she's done, and she can go on with her life without ever knowing who she really is."

…

Three days later, Kurt found himself sitting in the same chair, with Rachel at his side. The vial with the potion in it itched in his palm as he waited for an opening to pour it into her drink.

"Who cares about you?" She said callously, "I may get a boyfriend out of this who can give me vaguely Eurasian children."

The comment stung, and Kurt had to fight down his emotions, knowing she didn't know why her words hurt him so much. Just then the opportunity arrived to pour the potion into her coffee. He did so quickly while she was distracted, then slipped the vial back into his pocket, just as Blaine appeared in line. Rachel took a large drink from her cup, and then stood to go greet the short Warbler.

Kurt's heart raced. Was it enough? Would the potion work? Or would the kiss cement the curse, and doom him to a life of misery? He didn't want to watch, but couldn't look away as the kiss lingered. And when they finally parted, he thought he would die in the silence that followed.

Then he heard the words that would alter his destiny. "Huh, yep. I'm gay, 100% gay. Thank you, Rachel for helping me figure that out. Could you hold my spot for me? I need to use the restroom."

…

Are you,

...

"You lied to me!" Kurt said angrily to Wes nearly two weeks later. "You said the curse would be broken if I gave Rachel that potion! But I still see the darkness in Blaine, and he is still making me miserable!"

Wes sighed. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I thought that would end the curse, but for some reason it still lingers. We are trying to find out why, but it may take time."

Kurt cried himself to sleep that night.

…

She stood in the darkened hallway outside the boy's dorm room. She knew what must be done now. The Sight had finally revealed all to her. She entered the room in silence, to prevent the boy from waking as she moved up beside the bed.

She leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead as she slipped the moonstone under his pillow. "I love you, Kurt. Dream, remember. It is time for you to know all. I shall not see you again in this life, but we will meet again."

A noise from the corner of the room drew her attention, and she smiled as she walked over to the gilded cage. "There you are! It is time for you to awaken as well. I have missed you so much, my son."

…

Kurt woke up, stunned by the revelations of his dreams. He understood now, and his heart was over joyed to know that he was so loved in his past life. He wanted to run to Blaine and explain everything, but then remembered that Blaine was still under the effects of the curse.

He frowned for a moment, still not knowing how to break the spell, but even that thought couldn't keep the happiness from bubbling up. As he got ready for school that morning, he sang with Pavarotti, the song filling him with even more joy.

Until the bird stopped singing.

…

"Pavarotti is dead." He said softly into the sudden silence of the Warbler's common. "I'd like to sing a song in his memory."

And a Warbler could be heard, singing a mournful tune.

…

Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these broken wings, and learn to fly  
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise

At first all Blaine could feel as the song filled the room was numb. The same numbness he always felt. But as the music filled him, he became aware of his emotions. Not just memories of emotions, but actual feelings, as his fellow Warblers began to sing along.

Blackbird, fly (Fly)  
Blackbird, fly (Fly)  
Into the light (Fly) of the dark black night (Blackbird, fly)

(Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh..., uh, uh, uh!)  
(Tarara-rara-rara-raararararaaa)

Blackbird, fly (Fly)  
Blackbird, fly (Fly)  
Into the light (Fly) of the dark black night (Blackbird, fly)

Sorrow, anger, pain, happiness, joy. He could feel all of those building inside him. What was happening to him? Why now? He looked at Kurt, and for the first time it felt like he was really seeing him.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these sunken eyes, and learn to see  
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise  
You were only waiting for this moment to arise  
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blaine sighed, for the first time in two years, feeling content.

…

Coming to the tree

…

Wes was sitting at his desk, working on an essay later that night, when there was a knock on the door. He stood slowly, and moved to answer it, already knowing who it would be.

Blaine stood there, a sheepish grin on his face. They just looked at each other for a moment, and then they were hugging. "It worked, father! Your spells and rituals and planning! It worked!"

"It did! I knew that if I buried the part of me that cared for Josiah in the mind of the warbler, we could avoid that part of the curse, at least."

Wesley looked sad for a moment. "I'm sorry, I failed you. I couldn't keep you from inflicting some pain on Kurt."

Blaine just hugged him again. "You kept him from spiraling into despair. That is the most important thing. And now it is time to let my beloved know I have returned."

…

Kurt sat in the common room, staring out the window, thinking of everything he now knew about magic, and curses, and reincarnation. As he had been singing Blackbird earlier, he thought he had seen the darkness in Blaine receding, and for the briefest of moments thought the curse had been lifted. But Blaine had been avoiding him all day.

Was it just wishful thinking? Or was the curse broken, and Blaine just didn't feel the same way about him anymore? He didn't know what to think.

And then suddenly, Blaine was standing in front of him, those hazel eyes he had come to love looking deep into his own glasz eyes. The shorter boy reached out and took his hand, pulling him to his feet. Without breaking eye contact, he ran his thumb over the bracelet of stone beads.

Smiling, Blaine raised the hand to his mouth, kissing the string of gems. "I remember the night I gave this to you. I knew then that you were the part of my soul that was missing. When you willingly placed your hand in mine, and allowed me to bind us together, I thought my heart would burst with joy. I have always loved you, Josiah Hummel Whitaker."

Kurt couldn't breathe. "And I have always loved you, William Mathias Dalton Anderson."

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, and Kurt sighed. Everything was right with the world.

Unfortunately, his phone ringing cut into their happy reunion. He could have ignored it, but it was his father's ringtone, Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA.

Smiling at the man he loved, he answered. "Hey dad! What?" He frowned. "When? Yeah, I know. I'll be there soon. I love you, too."

Sighing softly Kurt reluctantly took a step back from the shorter man. "My Grandma Amy passed away last night."

…

His dad greeted him at the door of his Grandmother's apartment with a hug. "She called me last night, said she needed to tell me something important. But when I got here she had already passed away. There were three letters sitting on the table beside her bed. One of them was addressed to me, another was addressed to you, and a third was addressed to someone named Blaine Anderson."

Kurt frowned. "Blaine?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"He's my friend," He wasn't ready to tell his dad that he had a boyfriend, let alone explaining what hand-fasting meant. In pagan terms, they were already married.

Shrugging, Burt handed him the other two letters. "I've already read mine. I'm not sure what to believe."

Kurt sighed. "It's true, Dad. I know I didn't believe it at first either, but it is all true. I don't have time to explain it all to you right now, but I promise we'll talk about it soon."

He waited until he got back to Dalton later that night to read his letter.

My Dearest Kurt,

If I have succeeded in fulfilling my part in all this, then by now you know of Josiah and William, and the love they shared. What you may not have known was the part I played in their lives...

…

Blaine reread his letter, a tear slipping free as he finished.

And so, my son, please know that I have always watched over you, even after my passing, and will continue to do so in the next life.

Love always,

Amerynth Marie Hummel

…

New York, New York, May 27th, 2020

They smiled down at their daughter, her hazel eyes shining with magic. Amerynth Marie Dalton Hummel Anderson, the first true witch born in the Dalton line in over three hundred years, whose mother was the last descendant of the Black family line, and who smiled so serenely at Kurt as he held her gently.

He looked at his husband, and smiled. Life truly was perfect, even if it took three hundred years for it to come about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who figured out the clue in chapter one that held the key to breaking the curse? And who figured out Pavarotti's role in this story? Thank you all for joining me on this journey, and I am so happy so many of you enjoyed this story!


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